


A Lamb Among Pigs

by snafumoofins



Category: Once Upon A Time - Fandom, Operation: Endgame (2010), Ravenous
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cannibalism, F/M, Inexperienced, Murder, Older Man/Younger Woman, cannibal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 54,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snafumoofins/pseuds/snafumoofins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He did not expect to meet the naive lamb among his pigs for slaughter. She doted on him, attached herself to his side. Francis Ives wanted to eat her in a different way than he originally intended. She was too pure to even think of feasting upon, too fragile. She is the only one left alive. She knows what he's done. And yet she whimpers, clutching onto him. She needs him. </p><p> “Do you want to know what I’m going to do to you?”</p><p>“W-What Mr. Ives..?” </p><p> “I’m going to keep you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

She looked angelic, even in the dim firelight. Angelic through the tears on her face. Angelic through the fear in her eyes as she stared up at him, her lips parted.

His tongue slid along his chapped lips as he watched her, surrounded by blood, by bones. He wanted to feed her the flesh of her father, watch the glint in her eyes as she felt the power of the Wendigo ways, as she felt the lusts her body wasn’t yet exposed to spread through her veins like wildfire.

She was a lamb among the sheep for slaughter. So pure that the thought of biting into her made him want to both vomit and take her little form right there.

She’d come with her father, Pastor Moe French. They were coming through the Nevadas to find a new home for their parish, his little Belle had told him.  
  
She was his special friend, a lovely little tumor in his side. She always darted from her father’s company to him, to watch Francis hitch up the horses or help him gather twigs for kindling. She always was eager to ride with him at the head of their small entourage, her arms firm around his waist. She avidly chattered on about the books she read and the countryside, not even concerned with his refusal to speak about his past.  
  
She was not like the others that he intended to feast upon. She was not a pig. She was a delicate little lamb, frail as a feather, sweet as the finest of wines.

He’d devoured her bumbling father last, laughing as the man sobbed and pleaded to his god. He’d rid of him separately, out in the woods. He couldn’t let his little Belle see such things. Her sobs would’ve kept him from enjoying his kill. Her tears would’ve made the hum of virility and life that came with feasting on her foolish father dim down to a low ember.  
  
She knew it was him. He was the only one who could’ve killed the other members of their little party of travelers. She sat still as could be, her body trembling despite her best tries not to. “Y-You…You’re going to eat me n-next…aren’t you?” she whimpered, her wide blue eyes staring up at him.

He fell upon a knee before her, his hand moving to cup her shivering cheek. She flinched from his hand, mouth trembling. He said nothing, only moving his face closer to her to take in the scent of her.  
  
She smelled like roses. Even under the sweat and tears, she smelled like roses. He wanted to slide his tongue along her cheek, to know how she tasted.  
  
“M-Mr. Ives…you ate my Papa…and all the others…” she quietly murmured. “You said…You said before the killer wouldn’t…stop ‘till we’re all dead.”

 _Mr. Ives._ The words shot straight down to his loins, causing him to twinge. He groaned softly, wanting nothing more than to eat her in other ways than he first intended, burrowing between her thighs and giving her a better reason to stop whimpering.  
  
“I would never hurt you, my sweet little Belle, you’re too special,” he gently told her, his fingers trailing down her cheek.

She hunched forwards at the realization that he had devoured their companions and her father, her whole body shivering. The crown of her head pressed against his chest and he found her scooting closer towards him.  
  
The realization of her sudden need for his affection had him gritting his teeth, his breath shuddering as his hand splayed out upon her back.  
  
“B-But you ate them…I’m next, Mr. Ives…are you going to kill me..?” she asked in her naive little voice, her breath puffing against his leg. 

“No, my sweet Belle. I would never hurt you,” her shoulders hunched at his words, her body no longer stiff. She trusted him. She probably trusted him more than she had trusted her own father. “Do you want to know what I’m going to do to you?”  
  
“W-What Mr. Ives..?” she softly asked, lifting her head to stare into his smouldering eyes.  
  
His hand came to grip her chin. _I’m going to feed you and love you and devour your sweet little loins. I’ll make you feel things you’ve never felt and never let you leave. You’ll be my demoness, my queen, my pet. My little lamb._ “I’m going to keep you.”


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ives attempts to console his damaged pet, memories of the past coming back to him as he watches the blank faced girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will follow the plot of Ravenous for the most part, save for the ending. I do hope you're all enjoying reading this as much as I am writing this. And yes, Hierophant will be coming eventually in the future. :)

"K-Keep me?" she asked eyes wide as she held his gaze, the misunderstanding in her sweet eyes making him want to whimper.

She had never deserved this fate, not the fate that she had stumbled into.

Each other pig did, but not sweet Belle. The child was nothing more than sixteen, barely beginning in her life.

She hadn't even uttered a single cry for her father, not as she had when they had killed Jones's dog, Spade.

The girl had been frantic, clutching onto the mutt, her face burrowed into its chest. Nobody could tug her away, not even Moe.

* * *

_"Someone slap her and be done with it!" Jones growled, moving towards his chastely sweet Belle to tug her off of the dog._

_Francis was quick to intercept the man, shoving the man back a step. "By all means, allow me, Mr. Jones," he sneered at the servant, carefully turning on a heel towards the sobbing girl. It was then that he had decided the outspoken slave would be the first to be gutted. To move towards Belle with the intent to slap her was a crime that could not go on without punishment._

He recalled Jones's death with a smirk. _"I wonder, will your meat taste any different, slave?"_ he had spat at the man as he slit his throat, watching with a satisfied glint in his eye as the man drowned in his own blood.

_The others had moved to the other side of the cave, Ives's venomous tone clearly indicating his impatience for any interruptions. "Oh, Belle, why do you cry so? It tears at an old Scotsman's heart," he had softly crooned to the girl, his hand moving to touch her hair, only to still an inch away. The urge to touch her chestnut tresses had been too often indulged with her before on their journey, away from prying eyes. He couldn't touch her so fondly now, not here._

_"H-He's...He's his pet...Mr. Ives...he's...so innocent," she blubbered softly, stroking the dog's fur. "He's such a good dog...so obedient...he'd...he'd wag his tail, even as Mr. Jones killed him."_

_He'd only blankly stared at the girl after that, unable to hide the incredulous surprise that she instilled upon him with her naïve words._ _  
_

_He remained by her side, his gentle consolations swaying the girl's determination enough that he could lead her away from the group, an arm around her petite frame. He watched as Moe French didn't even spare her a glance, bounding over to hold the mutt down while Jones approached with a hunting knife._

_The girl wasn't close with her father, Belle had whispered this to Francis as she clutched onto his waist upon his steed, Napoleon. He favored her place behind him on the horse, not only for her body clinging to his, but for the secrets she told him. She told him of her father's drinking, of his decision to attempt to force her to marry a boy who had informed the girl he'd enjoy breaking her. Belle had told her father this, but Moe French did not halt the engagement. Not until he realized they needed to leave._

_And even now, the man disregarded his daughter's fragile heart. The dying yelp that came from Spade was shrill and pathetic, making Francis's enhanced ears ache. Ives almost killed each one of them for their lack of patience._

_Belle had heard it. She'd stiffened, her eyes widening in absolute horror. "N-No..." she breathed, attempting to turn and run towards the dog, as if she could heal the thing with her bare hands. "Mr. Ives, please!" she had cried, struggling against his iron grip around her waist. His free hand had clamped over her eyes without a second hesitation, dragging her towards the hole._

_The hole had been discovered upon their first arrival to the cave. He'd left it empty, removing the rope he used to shimmy his way up and down. He'd even gone to the extent of removing the various bindings below. They'd all be hanging from them after he was finished with them, their bodies bleeding out._

_All of their bodies save for Belle's, who would be at his side, nuzzled up against him where she belonged._

_"Belle, you must promise me something,"_

_he leaned down to her level, his eyes scouring hers. "Can you do that?"_   
_  
"Yes, Colonel," she tearfully nodded, snuffling softly._

_"You must never go into this hole. Your little curious mind will want to, but you mustn't look inside of it. Do you swear? I've probably only heightened your curiosity, but you must always trust me, Belle...I'm doing everything I do for your benefit, for your safety."_

_The sudden hesitation in her eyes was obvious to him, but she nodded, snatching her bottom lip between her teeth to worry at it._

_"Good girl," he had praised, his fingers finding her soft curls and sliding through them. He stood there with her for a long while, combing through chestnut tresses until the smell of the cooking mutt reached their noses._

_The girl had fallen to her hands and knees immediately, vomiting up nothing but stomach bile. Francis remained at her side the entire time, his hand rubbing her back, mouth murmuring soft words into her ear as she broke into weak sobs._

* * *

And now here she sat, wondering if he wanted to keep her as Jones kept Spade, loving her until he grew tired of her. She would be just like Spade was as his master killed him, smiling up at him as he slit her throat.

"Yes, I will keep you," he replied, running his thumb along her jaw line. He would never tire of such a marvel of a girl, never.

Something flashed in her eyes, a sudden bravery. It was a welcome sight for Ives, as he had worried that her frail little mind had lost all hopes of surviving the winter. "Y-You mock me to leave me alive, to keep me with you. You killed my Papa. You killed them all and you might as well kill me because I won't eat them. I know I told you that...my Papa was cruel to me, but he raised me. I won't eat him, or anyone for that matter. I won't. S-So please, Mr. Ives, kill me and be done with it," the trembling in her voice halted as her words grew louder, but she never retracted from him, never even hesitated against his grip, against his caresses.

His heart gave a painful ache at her request to be slain like the other pigs. "No Belle, never," he softly murmured, drawing her into his embrace. "You're mine, don't you see? I would kill myself before I would you...my sweet Belle...my sweet little Belle," Francis Ives did not grow emotional like this for petty things. He was a hardened man. And yet to hear the girl ask him to... _kill_ her.

She said nothing after that, her eyes blank as he pulled back to properly search her face for any sign of emotion. She reminded him of a porcelain doll, like the ones his daughter had howled for before he'd watched her die, her little face discolored and puffy as her breaths stilled. He remembered the satisfying crack of his wife's neck breaking in his hands after he'd buried his precious little Grace. Whether she had noticed his daughter's illness and simply chose to ignore doing anything about it to save coin for her drinking or if she truly hadn't noticed, he would never know. What he did know was that his wife had used his hard-earned coin sent from the war to drink her demon ales.

Belle was beyond anything that the wench could've ever been, her lovely soul, her curious eyes. The thought of her smiling towards him with a hand splayed over her stomach, swollen from holding his child made him shiver, pushing his fist in his mouth to bite down the urge to take her right there among the blood and spirits of her companions.

"Mr. Ives...you won't make me eat my Papa, will you?" she finally asked, her pale little face still devoid of any emotion.

She no longer wished for him to harm her, it seemed. His words must have gotten into her head and made her see the true way of things. "Of course not, my sweet. I'd never do such a thing," he soothingly murmured, his thumb stroking her cold cheek, "but you must eat, Belle, you must," he softly urged. The girl was unwell. She'd always appeared to be quite frail, even from the beginning of their journey. She was so very pale at the moment, more than usual. He knew it most likely came with the events she had witnessed, but even before she was always raking with shivers in the night, even by the fire.

He'd taken extra satisfaction in gutting Moe French for his refusal to notice Belle's condition. He was no better than Ives's wife. If Francis hadn't killed the man and removed her from his care, the girl would've died. To think of Belle, her face swollen and body writhing in pain...he cringed internally at the thought.

Moe French's death had been personally satisfying for this reason. Ives knew he was saving the girl from certain death.

"I don't want to," she softly murmured, making a feeble attempt of pushing him from her. Her words were so strong, and yet her little shove was as weak as the flapping of a butterfly's wing.

"You are unwell, darling girl, you must," he gently attempted to insist. Ives knew she would leave him no choice but to force the meat of her companions down her throat until she hungered for it enough to eat it willingly. He closed his eyes, nose twitching with disgust. To force her to do anything.

She was his. He would have to be strict, but how long would he have to force feed the girl? _Perhaps iI fed her my..._

"Please...can w-we leave this part of the cave..?" she finally asked, sniffling delicately and wiping her eyes. Ives wasn't quite sure if the girl was simply too tired to shed any tears upon her father and companions or if she truly had no feelings on the matter. "I'm tired," she murmured, eyelids barely able to keep from drooping down.

He quickly scooped her into his arms before she could slump backwards, the shock of the previous day reducing her to a cold, shivering mass in his arms. A husk.

She _needed_ something, anything to eat. Even if it wasn't something of the Wendigo nature. The cold had driven most wildlife away and the roots in the ground hardly provided any sort of sustenance. The only other option he had was to feed her the way he wanted.

He carried her to the deeper parts of the cave, away from the blood, away from the hole where her father hung upside down, bleeding dry.

He laid the girl atop his furs on the ground of the cave, covering her with a thick pelt he'd bought from a passing caravan on their journey. He imagined her in a proper bed, _his_ bed, wearing nothing but the pelt around her bare body. Perhaps she'd wake, even if he arrived late in the night. She'd sleepily smile at him in the candle light and crawl from the pelts, reaching for him, perhaps even pleading with her eyes for him to take her on their bed.

Belle rolled onto her side, facing away from him with her arms wrapped around her middle. The sobs started silently, but grew louder as the minutes passed. He crouched beside her as she sobbed and sobbed, until her throat ached and her voice died away.

She spun around, eyes puffy and red as she reached for him, the gesture so very childlike and guileless that he felt his heart give a painful squeeze in response.

He stood, kicking off his boots and discarding of his heavy hide jacket before responding to her pleading arms, sliding under the pelts and holding the girl to him, trying to keep from shuddering as she pressed herself against him, her face burrowing into his neck. Her breathes came in heavy little puffs, slowly growing calm as his hands rubbed her back.

Her firm little breasts were planted tightly against his chest, so much so that it almost felt as if she wore nothing to cover them. He'd already seen them once and it was an image he had always kept embedded in his mind.

* * *

_Their group had halted once they caught sight of the small spring, hidden behind the trees. Winter was just around the corner, but the prospect of bathing was enough for them. The men had gathered on the other side of the road, allowing little Belle French to have her privacy as she washed herself._

_Francis didn't intend on looking upon her, but the urge was too great. He left, claiming that his bowels were bothering him. Pastor Moe French was much too busy sipping from his flask of "water" as Ives left along the road, quickly striding to the other side and disappearing into the brush._

_He circled around the spring, pleased to find the perfect vantage point of the girl below, still undressing. He crouched behind the bushes he had found, watching the naked girl wade into the water and give a little splash, a breathy giggle escaping her lips._

_He gazed upon her fair-skinned body that sharply contrasted with her surroundings, his hand fumbling to press against his tented pants. Her breasts were not as big as the whores he'd been with, but they were even better. Small and firm, big enough for him to grasp in his hands. Her skin must've had goose pimples from the cold waters, as he could see her hardened nipples, even from his hiding spot. What would the girl do if he moved in and joined her? If he held her to his warm body, keeping her shivering form from freezing any more. Would she refuse?  
_

_He freed his erection from his pants, watching the girl as she scrubbed herself with water, her hands innocently scrubbing at her breasts and even the nestle of curls between her legs._

_His hand pumped erratically himself as he feasted upon the complete innocence of Belle's bath, the way she never once lingered while washing herself, not even aware of the feelings he could provide her._

_He bit his tongue to keep himself silent as he released onto the ground, giving a long breath before watching the girl finish her bath. He jerked himself to oblivion twice more after that, once more while she finished bathing and again later that night at the simple thought of her, naked and washing._

* * *

The urge was too great to resist as he held her in the cave. Recalling her naked form hadn't helped him forget the girl, Ives currently keeping herself firmly pressed against him.

He wondered if she was aware of the hard mass pressing against her thigh. He wondered if she even knew what it looked like. His Belle did love to read, as she had told him. Had she read up on these sorts of things? _Of course not, she's much too behaved for such things._

He carefully shifted himself around, facing away from the girl, who gave a soft whimper of protest. He stilled, staring ahead at the dwindling fire nearby. Belle gave a content sigh as she slid her arms around his waist, spooning back around him. Her arm was slanted dangerously towards his hip, her hand hovering right above his tented cock.

Ives stiffened in her arms, giving a stifled groan as he carefully slid her hand back up to his waist. Before he could stop himself, his hand had undone his fly and had jerked his stiff member out, biting back the urge to move Belle's hand towards it. Would she wake? Would she want to touch him?

He simply fondled himself, almost lazily as he took in the feel of her body against his back, her crotch pressed snugly against his back. After he was convinced that the girl was fast asleep, his hand squeezed his shaft, tightly gripping it as he pumped his aching cock.

He imagined it was her soft hand around him, hesitantly pumping him with the guidance of his hand, eyes glimmering with curiosity. His hips bucked despite himself, rousing the girl enough to make her roll over, her buttocks firmly pressed to his back. He gave a stifled groan as he came, his seed spilling into his other hand with the image of Belle's sweet little mouth on his cock implanted in his mind.

As soon as the twinges of pleasure faded, he gave a disgusted growl, sickened with his primal lusts as he wiped his hand off onto the stone floor besides them. He hastily placed himself back into his trousers, rolling around so he could properly hold the girl.

He hadn't planned on sleeping, fearing that the girl would attempt to run, but she was much too sick to even get a few meters out in the snow.

Ives also didn't plan on hearing her soft voice. "Did it feel good..?" she asked, his body stiffening as his arms tightened around her, cock twitching lightly.

"Yes," he answered, pressing his lips to the top of her head. "Sleep, Belle," he gently commanded.

And she did, leaving him to stare helplessly upon her face. Had he dreamt her question? She'd really...known?

Francis's eyes slid shut, finding that his dreams only contained the girl, naked and smiling at him. _"Did it feel good?"_ she asks him, again and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, dearie. I'd like to take the time to thank Crazie for helping me along with this. She's my Ives on tumblr and an amazing RPer!


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's gone when he wakes and Ives's can't help but fear she isn't grieving at all. Belle, on the other hand, may be upset, but it doesn't keep her from experimenting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly Belle is going to be a little OOC for some in this fic. It might be a bit odd how cold she is over Moe's death, but we'll find out a bit more of what he's done to her in the past. 
> 
> Thank you all for enjoying this so much so far, it really is fun to write! Thanks to Crazie as always for helping me out with this.

She was gone when he woke.  
  
It took him a moment to process this as Francis had been much more worn than he had realized, sleepiness fogging his head. As enjoyable it was to murder the three other members of their little group, it was tiring.  
  
He bolted upwards immediately, assuming the girl had attempted to leave. He'd underestimated her health, assuming she'd be too weak to move.  
  
 _“Did it feel good?”_

He bit back a groan, forcing himself to focus as he tugged on his boots.

He didn't even bother to pull his jacket on as he briskly searched the cave for her, heading to the hole first to assure himself that the girl hadn't disobeyed.  
  
He found her at the mouth of the cave.  
  
She wasn't strewn on the ground sobbing, nor was she vomiting in the snow.  
  
Belle simply sat, arms hugging her legs to her chest, chin perched atop her knees.  
  
She stared at the falling snow with a reflective expression upon her face, not even flinching as a drop of water from the icicles above plopped down upon her head.

Francis made no movement to tug her away from the cold, nor did he move closer. He leaned against the cave wall, crossing his legs and watching the girl, waiting for her to burst out into tears.  
  
She didn't.  
  
He craned his neck, trying to see more of her face, but it was a foolish action. He lost his footing, tripping on his unlaced boots.

Belle turned towards him as he caught himself, the scuffling sound drawing her attention.  
  
Her face was as white as the snow that she had been watching, the only darkness rested about her eyes. _From the illness and lack of comfortable rest, of course._

He refused to believe that any of the previous events could have her looking so sickly. Surely she wouldn't be _that_ upset with him. In his mind, he'd freed her from the wrath of Moe French and his pathetic living. Now that she was his, she would be treated as she was meant to be. As royalty.

Her eyes weren't nearly as blank as they had been in the firelight the previous night. He dared to believe the spark in them had been reignited. Her pink lips were parted as she gazed at him, the corners twitching almost as if she wanted to smile. “You are welcome to sit with me, Mr. Ives. You shouldn't even need to hesitate to know that,” her voice was as soft as the whistle of the winds wisping through the trees, but it wasn't nearly as cold and dull as it had been last night.  
  
Her little accented tone was sweet, teasing even as it called to him. He lumbered over, his legs feeling heavy as he approached her. Part of him expected to wake up, having dreamt of the girl entering his life as a whole.  
  
He gave a grunt as he lowered himself beside her on the cold stone floor, his arm resting upon his knee, the other leg stretched out before them. He said nothing for a long while, gazing out at the falling snow with her. Belle was seemingly comfortable with their silence, but Ives's fingers restlessly rubbed together as he anxiously scoured his mind for a way to break the silence.  
  
“Why are you out here?” he finally asked, his voice as soft as could be.  
  
Belle's embrace around her knees tightened, her fingers digging into her legs through the fabric of her dress. “I hate it in there,” she firmly admitted. “It's so dark and...claustrophobic that I feel like I can't breath. A man could lose his mind in there,” her gaze hesitantly turned to him.  
  
“You think I'll lose my mind?” He moved his free hand to cup her cheek and tilt her gaze towards him, grimacing as he noticed the girl flinch.  
  
He didn't let the sight of her flinching deter him and left his hand upon her cold cheek, his thumb stroking along her soft skin. She leaned into his touch, like a feline craving attention. “Yes,” she replied in a wavering voice. “I don't want you to lose your mind, Mr. Ives.”  
  
He almost told her to call him Francis in that moment, but his selfish lusts kept him silent. The innocence of her voice each time she called him Mr. Ives had his teeth clenching and his fingers digging into his thigh to keep from touching her any further.  
  
“I would never do such a thing,” he gently assured. “Surely you can't only be tired of this cave for those reasons,” she had to harbor some foul feelings over the loss of her father. The girl couldn't possibly be completely fine with the death of Moe French. “I killed your father, Belle. I killed them all. I won't lie to you and pretend some beast came and took them in the middle of the night. The only beast lurking about is right here,” he motioned to himself, face grim.  
  
“You aren't a beast, Mr. Ives,” she insisted, shifting to turn to him, sitting on her knees. Her hands rested upon his thigh, fingers curling around the fabric of his trousers. “You...did kill them all and you...” she took a shaky breath, eyes suddenly shimmering as if she would cry, giving Francis a shot of relief to know she _was_ grieving. “killed my father...you may not be a saint or an angel, but you're still a good man to me, you take such good care of me, Mr. Ives.” she suddenly laughed, a noise so sweet to his ears that his breath caught in his throat.

"People would say I'm like those captives taken by the Indians from the east, have you heard of them, Mr. Ives?” she asked, the inquisitive glimmer in her eyes that had often been present on their rides upon Napoleon now back once more.  
  
“I haven't,” he curtly answered, his hand moving to comb through her tangled curls.  
  
“Papa heard of them in the papers,” her smile faded as she recalled her father, but she didn't let it stop her. The girl loved sharing her knowledge with Francis and he loved her for that. Few regarded him with worth and the ones who didn't were all dead and shit now. “The Indians who had lost their children to disease would kidnap children of the same age from white settlers. When found, they often refused to leave, saying the Indians were their family,” she explained. “I suppose people would claim me to be the same case, but you _are_ a good man.”

 “I'm not, Belle. I murdered your father,” he attempted to sway her resolve. He knew he had made the right choice in this situation. If he hadn't killed the bastard, he would've resumed to ignore his daughter's dwindling health.  
  
“You did, and I'm upset over that, I am, but you've been good to me, Mr. Ives...maybe it's only because I'm yours now as you said, but you've taken care of me, even if I was a bit upset with you. I'm not sympathizing with you as a captor, but as a friend. I've gotten to know you, Mr. Ives...and the idea of eating flesh...that you've eaten flesh...is very...” she trailed off, unable to find a proper word to explain it. “It's mortifying to think of...but I'm going to have to learn to accept that you do it,” she made no mention in partaking in the eating of flesh, making Francis realize with a slight wince that he would have no choice but to force the meat into her system until the addiction settled.

He stared at her, eyes full of emotion as his other hand came to cup her other cheek, drawing her face closer to his. He pressed his lips to her forehead, gripping her face so firmly that he could feel her jaw loosen in response to his kiss.  
  
“Sweet Belle,” he murmured against her skin. “Sweet, sweet Belle,” her arms slid around his waist, firmly clutching onto him like the needy girl she was.  
  
He could sense the want about her, the need of his touch, the need to always be touched by him. He would fulfill it for her, but not in her current state. She was still much too weak.  
  
And even as he thought about how weak the girl was, she managed to catch up off guard completely. Belle had timidly raised her face up towards his. “Mr. Ives,” she breathed, eyes dark and bleary. The girl leaned in, tentatively brushing her lips against his, the kiss so innocent and inexperienced that his heart thundered like a stampeding buffalo.  
  
He clutched onto her face with both hands, struggling to remain completely still as she attempted to kiss him again, fumbling to touch his face in return. His jaw was loose as she resumed her soft kisses, her body giving a little jump as she accidentally caught his lip between her teeth. As embarrassed as she was, the fumble had her body feeling warm in places she wasn't used to.  
  
He wasn't sure what she had intended to do with her other hand, (she most likely had planned on placing it upon his thigh) but it brushed along his tented trousers, the back of her hand skimming along his covered erection.  
  
That simple mistake broke his stony resolve to let her experiment, making him lose complete control as he pounced upon the girl, pushing her onto her back with his own body, his arms snug around her waist to pillow her back from the hard ground as he mashed his lips against hers. His kiss was hungry, lips smearing across hers as he groaned slurred mumbles of adoration towards her. His tongue pushed its way between her lips, Ives giving a pleased moan as she parted her clenched teeth to allow him to stroke her sweet tongue with his own. His teeth scraped against her lips and he hadn't realized he'd managed to split her wind chapped lips until he both smelled and tasted her sweet coppery blood.  
  
He pushed himself from her immediately, stumbling back against the cave wall, eyes wide, erection straining. The smell was beyond anything he'd imagined, the smell of the sweetest of virginal wells, the smell of the epitome of purity.  
  
He knew this would happen. He knew one day he would smell her forbidden blood. He'd been quite surprised that she'd lasted their entire trip without a single cut or even her monthly bleeding.  
  
But now he feared himself. He feared he would hurt her, that the roaring Wendigo inside of him would demand her as a feast. He needed to make her his own, his mate, his partner. Fucking her and feasting with her would surely calm him.  
  
She recoiled from him as he bolted back against the wall, eyes wide and confused. She'd whimpered as he had ruthlessly plundered her mouth, but he wasn't quite sure if it had been a whimper of pleasure or fear. Her face was flushed, he noted and a sweet, musky scent had reached his nose. She'd enjoyed it. “I-Ives..?” she asked, her proper little “Mr.” now gone and lost along with his mask of kindness.  
  
“Go lie down and take care of...t-that,” he quickly ordered, pointing towards her lip.  
  
He was the devil and her blood was the holy water that would end him.

“You...” her eyes widened with realization, an angry sob escaping from her mouth. The sound of it had him wishing that she'd simply set fire to him and let him die the painful death he deserved. “You think you'll...e-eat me?” she demanded.  
  
He attempted to speak, but she didn't allow him to.  
  
“After all you've promised, you would _eat_ me? You had my trust and you...you toyed with it!” she cried, the small dot of blood from the opening on her lip sliding down to rest upon the crease of her chin. “I can't...I can't believe you. You'd make me care for you, make me forget my woes of losing my _own_ father that _you_ murdered just because you believe you'll eat me from a single bit of blood,” she saw the flaming agony in his eyes, her own softening. “I don't place my trust so easily, Mr. Ives, but...I trust you. What you've done isn't right at all...you've taken my own father from me...but I do trust you." 

She slowly stood on shaky limbs, reaching towards him like the angelic being she was. “Come here and kiss me, please,” she requested and he obeyed, slowly crawling to his feet like a wounded wolf.  
  
He approached her, head lowered to the ground. He couldn't bear to see the kindness in her eyes, he didn't deserve it. Her anger had faded as quickly as it had come and for that, he didn't understand how Belle French was human.  
  
She tilted his chin up with a gentle hand, giving a pleased breath as he slid his arms around her petite waist, this time gentle as he carefully lowered his face to hers, tongue sliding along her chin to clean the small dribble of blood before he planted his lips upon hers. She tasted sweeter than anything he'd ever tasted, beyond the finest of whiskey, even better than a drink from a chilled stream after a long hike in the woods.  
  
His lips surrounded her lower lip, his tongue moving to run along the split in her lip, shuddering at the taste of her blood.  
  
He gingerly lapped at her bleeding lip until the bleeding had ceased, not realizing her hand had been on his upper thigh until he drew away, eyes and mind fogged with lust.  
  
“You don't want to cook me?” she softly asked, a slow grin forming upon her lips. Her hand rubbing his thigh.  
  
He was pleased to find that the girl was not only adventurous in the outdoors, but with her touches. She knew nothing of love making, not even of kissing, but she was trying. The poor thing probably assumed he felt dull to her touches, but even his past whores hadn't affected him in this way. Her voice alone could have his cock standing at complete attention.

He intended to return to the fire and allow her to direct his touch about her body, the image of her naked limbs wrapped around him stuck in his mind, but she collapsed in his arms as suddenly as she had stood, her legs crumbling like dry dirt beneath her.  
  
He caught her, breath catching as he quickly pushed her hair from her face. “Belle?” he quickly questioned, his hand pressed to her forehead.  
  
He flinched, cursing himself for not noting her sweltering temperature earlier.  
  
She needed flesh and she needed it now. It was the only thing that would save her from death.  
  
Belle was his to love, to keep, to have. He wouldn't allow the girl to die before he could even begin his worship of her.

Ives lifted her limp body, quickly retreating into their cave. He left her wrapped in his furs, pressing his lips to her shivering mouth in a lingering kiss, relishing the taste of her sweet lips as he headed out to gather snow in the kettle.  
  
After hanging the pot of snow to melt and boil, he dropped into his hole of hanging bodies as she fitfully slept, retrieving a plentiful amount of flesh for the stew that would transform his precious lamb into his she-wolf.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle succumbs to Ives's ministrations and not only agrees to eat his stew of human flesh, but requests that he takes her maidenhood away from her.

“I said I won't!” the spoon in his hand went clattering to the ground, his patience going down with it.  
  
“Belle,” he spat in a heavy tone, trying intently to wrangle his temper into place. He took a long breath before retrieving the spoon from the ground, wiping it on his shirt. “You must eat or you will die, my darling pet.”  
  
The girl openly stared at him with quivering blue eyes, clamping her mouth shut as if she knew he intended to force the stew down her throat next. Part of Ives considered leaving the girl off to herself, taking a sip of the stew and forcing his mouth upon hers to push the stew into hers. No matter how much he wanted to attempt to do such things, the thought of forcing his innocent lamb to do anything made his stomach roil with uneasiness.  
  
The meat from Mr. Jones's thigh had made for a lovely stew, the body well preserved in the frigid hole. Ives's had killed him naught only three days ago and the body was still in prim condition.  
  
Belle's stomach gave a grumble despite her best attempts to rustle about and cover the noise with more noise, but he'd heard it. A smirk found itself on his mouth, finding it amusing that she'd think he wouldn't hear the betraying noise from her stomach. “You want to Belle and you must,” he murmured, his finger trailing down her face.  
  
Belle made a choked whimpering noise, shaking her head before ducking it down, her forehead tightly pressed to her knees.  
  
“Don't you trust me?” he resumed in his soothing tone. “I would never do something intended to harm you, my sweet lamb,” his fingers now stroked through her hair and he noted the way her eyes slid shut, almost lazily.  
  
Part of him was tempted to tell her that she'd have eternal life and strength by taking her first bite, but he knew it would only alarm the girl to the point that she refused to eat at all.   
  
He refilled the spoon and slid his hand between her knees and forehead to tilt her face upwards.  
  
Her cerulean eyes bore into his, the panicked wideness of them dimming down to a tired, relaxed gaze. She said nothing but opened her mouth, lips trembling as he pushed the spoon into her mouth.  
  
There was something about spooning the stew into her mouth and gently tugging it out from her lips that seemed erotic to Ives. Something that had him wishing it were his own straining erection that he was pushing in and out of her mouth.  
  
He hungrily watched Belle as she became more alert and  resumed eating. He only had to pause once as she retched, fearing that the girl would vomit. Belle mustered up the strength to keep the stew down, taking the spoon from his hand and feeding herself after she took a few moments to allow the meal to settle, surely already feeling the Wendigo strength.  
  
She was tainted now, marked. She was his. She was his mate, his own kind. The realization made him give a hitched breath as he watched her feed herself. She'd try to deny him again, he knew this, but she would hunger for flesh as he did, even if she disliked his methods of obtaining it.   
  
She took a few more bites before handing the spoon off to him, silent as she tried to cling to the strange sensations wracking through her body.  
  
He placed the spoon aside, leaning in to carefully watch her expression change to gauge her reaction. "How do you feel?" he asked, hooking his thumb under her chin and tilting it upwards.  
  
"I feel..." she looked away, hesitation in her eyes. "I feel odd," she mumbled. The girl craved for more, he knew this, but the stubborn thing refused to admit it.   
  
"You can have more soon," he informed her, his mouth twitching into a smirk. "Eat anymore and you will vomit, darling lamb."  
  
She stared at him with curious eyes, her pale face tilting to the side. "What am I, Mr. Ives?" she softly questioned as he leaned in closer, his breath puffing against her cheek.  
  
"You're Wendigo," he breathed before pressing his lips to her in a needy kiss, surprised to feel the girl meld against him, pressing every bit of herself against him. He could feel the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, all of her.  
  
He ground himself against her, wanting her to know how very much be lusted for her from such simple acts, the motion causing the girl to stiffen and pull back. She said nothing, nor did he. He only cupped her cheek in his palm, stroking his fingers along her soft skin. She had never had such things done to her, never had even kissed a man before him. She surely was confused by these feelings that he brought out in her.   
  
Her gaze slowly trailed down to his tented trousers, sucking her lip into her mouth and nervously worrying at it with her teeth before finally working up the courage to speak. “T-That's...like that because of me?” she softly questioned.  
  
He only nodded, taking one of her folded hands in his. “You are all I desire, Belle. Do you know that?” he questioned, rubbing the backside of her palm with his thumb.  
  
She looked up to him, a faint smile on her lips. “Yes,” she answered, her fingers clenching onto his hand. “I feel something strange, Mr. Ives, like a...” she trailed off, her face flushing into a deep burgundy shade.  
  
“A desire..?” his smirk grew as his other hand came to rest upon her waist, the feel of her frail little form in his grip sending shivers down his spine. "The feeling that something beyond bliss could be in your grasp?"  
  
She only nodded, peering up towards him with a hesitance in her eyes. “Would you have me, Mr. Ives? Would you...” she tilted her head to the side, losing track of her words as another wave of strength flooded throughout her veins. “You said I'm yours...s-so...”  
  
He furrowed his brow, his grip tightening on her waist. “You are mine and I do intend to mark you as mine, but I don't want to rush you, sweet Belle...”  
  
She frowned, shaking her head. “I am prepared for whatever pain may come,” the change in her mood was quite sudden. She no longer trembled nor did she look forlorn and lost, but instead she seemed eager. Awake.  
  
“I'm not going to-oh _fuck,_ ”  
  
His eyes had widened as her hand had come to rest upon his tented pants, sucking his breath in sharply in response to her delicate touch.  
  
If a single brush of her hand had made him lose control before, the pressure of her palm against him drove him rampant. He planted both hands upon her waist, clutching her to him as he stood. She gave a squeak of protest, but he didn't care to stop him as he carried her to the pelts serving as their bed.  
  
He gently dropped her upon the furs, not giving her time to ready herself for him before pouncing her, his body firmly pressed against hers as he assaulted her mouth, pleased as she parted her lips and teeth to allow him to plunder about her mouth with his tongue.  
  
He kissed her until he ran out of breath and even then he resumed ravaging her neck and face with kisses, hands stroking up and down her sides and stomach, bunching up her dress as he went.  
  
“M-Mr. Ives,” Belle stammered, her face flushed, mouth twisted into a silent, sweet moan.  
  
“Francis,” he corrected in a huff as he drew his mouth away from her sweet skin.  
  
“Francis,” she repeated with a bleary smile on her face. “ _Francis_ ,” she repeated once more, but this time in a moan as his tongue slid along her neck.  
  
He nearly spilled himself in his drawers right there, his name so utterly sweet on her lips. He gripped her worn dress by the neckline, easily tearing through the thin fabric with a quick tug, pleased at the gasp that tumbled from her lips in response to his impatient action. He shoved the torn dress from her shoulders, planting kisses on each inch of newly exposed skin that was exposed as he removed the cloth.   
  
He forced himself to go as slowly as he could to assure the girl wouldn't attempt to push him away when he fell into a stupor of lust, but she seemed completely content as he pushed her dress to her waist and moved his hands to the back of her corset, tugging at the ropes keeping her breasts caged away.  
  
He deftly unstrung her corset within a few moments, having had his share of practice with tavern whores. Her breasts were firm and pert, just large enough to fit in his hand, but certainly not nearly as large as the average womans'. He knew the other pigs would've found his lamb to be adequate, but in his eyes, she was beyond perfect. So much so that he would've killed each and every pig in the land to allow them some privacy and an endless supply of meat.  
  
He planted his hands upon her breasts, drawing a shuddering little whimper from her mouth. He gave each breast a soft squeeze with his calloused hands, her hips involuntarily bucking against him in response to his gentle touch. He lowered his head to her left breast, eyes fluttering shut as he inhaled the scent of her sweet skin before lowering his open mouth around her nipple, pressing his tongue flat against her skin to savor the taste of her. Her areola was beyond any sort of softness he had ever felt before, making him give a strangled moan as he forced himself to keep his actions as gentle as possible.   
  
He lapped at her soft skin, sucking on her nipple fervently as he felt her fingers tangle into his hair, tugging at his wiry locks. Over the winter his beard and hair had fallen into sorry condition, far from his slicked back hair and primly trimmed beard from the beginning of their journey, but the girl seemed to pay no mind.  
  
She gave a guttural groan as he pulled back for a moment, irritated at the lack of touch he provided as he unbuttoned his blouse. "Patience, my innocent pet," he murmured in a teasing tone, eyes igniting with interest as she writhed beneath him.   
  
"Please," she breathily gasped, her fingers skimming down her body to push at her dress, which was just barely clinging to her hips. "I need something, I just don't know _what_ it is that I need," she groaned, frustrated with her lack of knowledge of the kindling flames in her lower abdomen.  
  
"You'll come to understand, I promise you that," he smirked as he spoke, knowing that the girl would be his many a time after this, no longer making the cave a place of bad memories, but their own little love nest. He thought of the possibilities ahead, of teaching innocent little Belle how to pleasure him and herself. The ideas were endless.  
  
He shoved his blouse off, tossing it aside and moving to work at his trousers, momentarily becoming distracted as Belle's innocent little hands moved to his chest, fingers scraping down along his sparse chest hair.  
  
He gave a growl, moving his hands away from his own trousers and yanking her dress off the rest of the way, her knickers going with it.  
  
The girl gave a soft gasp of surprise, hands flying to cover the triangular patch of dark curls covering his gateway to the heavens. He caught her wrists, tutting lightly. "No hiding from me, Belle," he softly crooned, shifting to slide down her body until his nose rested so close to her curls that the hairs tickled at his nostrils. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of her musk, untouched and sweet as could be. He was tempted to taste her, but he forced the thought away. Her cunt was for his cock and his cock alone in this moment.   
  
Belle stiffened immediately in response, murmuring incoherent words above him. His hand moved to hesitantly rest flatly against her patch of curls, watching the girl give a whine above and buck relentlessly against his hand. He could feel her heat, even without exploring. She was aching for him, even in her virginal state. "Good girl," he cooed, licking his lips before tugging his drawers off, giving a relieved huff as his erection, dark and straining, was finally freed from its containment. "You have no clue how long I've wished to do this, Belle," he informed in a low voice as he moved back up upon her, not allowing her to touch nor glance at his member.   
  
He didn't intend to be as sappy and languid as most lovers, who stretched their little maidens with their fingers and teased them to their edges before properly fucking them. He needed to feel her walls break from his cock. He needed it to be the first thing to push to her sweet little cunt. He was Wendigo, a beast, an animal. His ways of mating were the same.   
  
Before he so much as touched himself to her, he gazed into her eyes, carefully examining them. She held a look of worship an trust in those oceanic blue eyes, an impatient little frown on her lips. "Please," she pleaded. "Please do it," she urged.  
  
"Of course," he replied, grinning as he gripped his cock and pushed his velvety tip between her folds, nudging against her entrance. Ives gave a loud groan as he felt the thin wall shielding her cunt against the tip of his cock. He watched her eyes squeeze shut as he pushed into her, breatking through her maidenhead. He felt her body go as stiff as a board as he resumed entering her. "M-Mr. Ives," she whimpered, the pain making her lust and curiosity fade into irritation.   
  
He shushed her, gently stroking her face as he tried to control himself as he resumed sheathing himself into her until he was fully submerged in the tightness of her. Francis remained completely still, eyes wide with complete awe as he lavished in the feel of her. The tightness, the wetness, the feel of knowing this was Belle he was sheathed inside. It made his breath leave him, it made him want to sob and praise whatever god was above. "Oh gods, Belle, oh _fuck_ ," he spat, watching her eyes open ever so slowly, her brow furrowing.   
  
"I d-don't feel well, Mr. Ive-Francis," she quietly sniffled, making his momentary awe dissipate. There were tears. Tears falling from her eyes. He wanted to die in that moment. He had been so selfish, so consumed, that he hadn't noted her pain. _Always after your own, sickening lusts._  
  
"No, no, pet, it will feel better, I promise you this," he quickly moved in, peppering her face with kisses and ridding of the tears as he kept himself from fucking her senseless. "Your body is adjusting, all will be well soon," he soothed. Francis slowly jerked back ever so slightly before re-sheathing himself, his thrusts tiny and gentle. The girl kept her eyes open as he did so, her eyes widening as his hand traced from her cheek to her thigh.   
  
She no longer seemed  to be as perplexed and he took the moment to finally pull out even further, pushing back in with a grunt. His fingers flew between her legs, his thumb finding the small nub that would further push away her twinges of pain and replace it with bliss.   
  
Belle practically screeched as he began to rub at her, her legs locking around his waist and drawing him closer as she gave the most lust-drunk of moans, making him give a groan in response as he finally began to thrust in and out of her, caring not if it hurt, but only wanting to toss her into her first, sweet orgasm. "Do you feel that, Belle? Do you feel yourself bordering upon bliss?" he demanded, tone heavy as he quickened both his thrusts and his thumb.   
  
"Yes," she breathed, eyes glazing over as she felt the first pangs of pleasure between her legs, her hips bucking despite themselves.  
  
Francis couldn't quite understand her pull on him, but he did know that previously with his wife and tavern whores, it had taken him ages to spill himself inside of them, but with Belle, he'd only thrust into her a sparse amount of times before he felt that he was ready. He bit down the need of release, wanting so desperately to see the look on her face as she tumbled into her personal ocean of pleasure.   
  
The girl melted against him as she finally was thrown into bliss, her eyes wide and voice sobbing as she called for him, body jerking beneath him.   
  
He slammed into her, wanting to extend her pleasure as long as he could, spitting her name out between gritted teeth as he joined her, spilling his seed into her broken womb.  
  
Both remained still, limbs tangled and bodies slick with sweat as they panted, still trying to grasp the feelings they had just shared as one.  
  
When he did remove himself, he did so gingerly, the smell of her sweet blood wafting from between her legs after he pulled out.  
  
"Please stand, lamb. I know it hurts, but you must," he softly begged, the hesitance in her eyes only met with his pleading chestnut irises.  
  
She did so, legs wobbling like a newborn colts as she straightened herself out. He hungrily watched his seed slide down her inner thigh, noting the tinges of red mixed in with it. He slid his finger along her thigh, gathering the semen on his finger before nodding for her to sit.   
  
She did so, sitting cross legged. Her eyes were curious as he extended his finger to her.   
  
He pushed his finger into her mouth, giving a hiss of approval as she obediently accepted his finger into his mouth and suckled on it, her tongue deftly stealing his seed from his finger and tasting it for the first time with a bleary little smile.   
  
Ives smirked. What better way to allow her to feast upon the wendigo strength than give her a taste of the source of his virility? She swallowed, obviously wanting more as she eyed his limp member. "Not today," he sternly spoke, his hand upon her cheek. "No matter how strong you may think you are, your body is still weak, love. We sleep now," he informed, drawing her back into his arms as he lay back.   
  
The two silently settled into each others arms, exhausted from their previous joining.   
  
Ives fell asleep after Belle's breathing grew soft, wondering if he would wake to her greedy mouth around his cock suckling impatiently for more of his seed.   
  
Instead, he woke to what felt like a punch to the shoulder. His eyes jolted open, sitting up as he looked about, immediately assuming someone had found them and was attempting to steal his pet from him.  
  
Instead, he saw Belle sitting on his lap, wide-eyed and completely mortified for a reason unbeknownst to him.   
  
He followed her shocked gaze to see his own hunting dagger protruding from his chest, her hands gripped firmly around the hilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to everyone for following this. I've got some ideas in mind for upcoming chapters and am quite excited to get to it! Thanks to Crazie for helping me along, as always.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Such an act could not go on without punishment. Such a break in trust could not go without a test to prove her loyalty.

Ives stared at the girl settled in his lap, her hands firmly grasped around the dagger in his chest. Even now, she still pushed down upon the dagger, expecting him to convulse beneath her hand at any moment.

He hadn't realized he was gaping at her, but he was. The girl had been so behaved beneath him when she was writhing with pleasure and sweet nothings, but now to commit such an act? To attempt to _kill_ him? His blood boiled and he knew he would regret whatever was to come, whether it be fucking her bloody with a firm grip around her throat or with the same knife in her chest.

She opened her mouth and closed it a few times, struggling to find words to explain herself. "Y-You aren't dead," she gulped for air, her frail, naked little form trembling on his lap. Her hands came off of the grip of his dagger all at once, splayed in the air as if she thought it would prove her innocence.

His eyes flared, blazing with livid rage, his breaths coming out in heavy huffs. He knocked her back onto the cold stone ground with a thrust of his palm, sweeping up to his feet and yanking the dagger from his chest with one swift tug. He bled freely, not failing to see the girl inhale deeply with fluttering blinks of her eyes, most likely wishing for nothing more than the permission to lick at the blood he spilled.

"You tried to kill me, Belle," he spat, staggering closer to her in his naked form as she backed away, eyes wide and confused, just like a lamb out for slaughter. Always unsuspecting. Always confused. Always innocent. And yet she was only confused in this matter. "You tried to kill _me._ The man who cared for you, spared you, listened to your every word. Why? _WHY_?" his words had begun broken and confused, only to end in an roar of emotion, loud enough to reverberate throughout the cave and cause the girl to cringe.

"Because I hate what you do!" she cried from the ground, eyes blazing with a spark of the Belle he had fallen in love with in the first place. "I hate you for it, Francis Ives! You killed innocent people, you killed my father!"

"Your father beat you senseless!" he spat, the girl's eyes widening in horror as he brought up the subject she despised most, the little secret she confided him with.

_"Could I...tell you something, Mr. Ives?" she softly asked from his back, her petite arms firmly wrapped about his wiry chest as his gentle steed trotted along. "If you promise not to get mad."_

_He smirked in front of her, gazing off at the passing pastures with idle interest. Whatever his lamb had to tell him, he knew it would only infuriate him. He smirked at this because he knew the girl would persuade whatever anger he felt into nothingness. She could have him like putty in her hands only by smiling at him if she wanted. "Of course, Belle," he gently replied. "I promise I won't get mad, though it'll be rather difficult, knowing me," the two shared a soft exhalation of amusement at that.  
_

_She took a long breath and was silent for many moments, working up the courage to finally speak. "The first time I told my father that I didn't want to marry Gaston, he hit me, Mr. Ives...but it wasn't the first time he'd hit me," she spoke in a hurried breath. "He hit me before after having the devil's drink. Again and again. When the bruises were on my face, he'd tell the others at the parish that I was ill. He never beat me as bad as he did when I told him I didn't want to marry...he was very drunk and he lost his temper...Gaston's father owned a wealthy stable for European horses...a-and we would've had that money too if I did marry him..." she gulped, having spoken so hurriedly that she'd forgotten to breath. "H-He knocked me down the stairs and...and I was in bed for a week be...because I hit my head..."_

He recalled halting his horse completely after her confession, his shoulders hunched and eyes dark as he remained still. She'd placed her hands on his back, eyes wide. She had uttered a few soft words, wondering if he was well, but he didn't answer. He tugged on Napoleon's reins, intending to confront Moe French and kill him. Belle had started to cry, though, making him stop. She'd begged him with all of her might, so much so that he had agreed to never touch Moe French. He never promised that he wouldn't _kill_ him. His dagger had touched the bastard, not his hands.

Her tears had halted him from killing the man after her confession, but the tears that currently fell from her eyes did little to sate his anger. She was _lying._ She did _not_ hate him. He could smell the lie on her as clear as day, but he didn't understand _why_. How long had she been plotting this attempt to kill him? How long had she been waiting for this chance? He stretched his arms out, smirking ruthlessly down at her. "I cannot die, Belle. I told you what I am, what you are, but perhaps I did not make it clear enough. I _cannot_ die so long as I eat what I do."

Belle said nothing, but sat still, eyes full of some sort of emotion that he did not understand. The smile that formed on her lips was so much like his own that it sickened him. "Mayhaps I only wanted to see if you were telling the truth," she spat, her tone taunting.

The taunting only infuriated him more. "Stop lying, stop...stop becoming this...this wry demoness! You are my innocent lamb, not some nymph bewitched by the devil!"

"You are the devil, Mr. Ives," she retorted, her voice so strong that he couldn't help but feel completely dumbfounded by her new tone. He needed to silence it and quickly, before he lost the lamb completely. "And what if I killed you, Belle? What would you think?" it was not a threat, but a question full of nothing but love and worry.

"You'd never kill me," she firmly replied, a smile on her face. "You...You care too much," the strength in her eyes faded as his face furled back into one of rage. "I'm..." she acted as if she'd finally risen from the water, or rather blood, she was previously submerged and drowning in, eyes wide. "Oh, Francis," she breathed, attempting to reach for him, eyes wide. "I didn't mean...I didn't mean to taunt you so!" she tried to deter, but he didn't hear the words.

He grasped onto both of her wrists with one firm hand, wheeling her around onto her hands and knees. "You betrayed my trust," he spat. "Not only that, but you _teased_ me like some she-devil. There will be no forgiveness, not so soon," his hands gripped onto her buttocks, fingers digging into her pale skin.

He shoved himself into her with a swift plunge, pounding into her newly broken cunt without any regard for her pain nor her pleasure. The girl was nudged forwards with each thrust, giving little moans and sobs for forgiveness, but he did not heed her words. She enjoyed this and it was quite obvious from the dampness between her legs. Her moans only grew thicker as his thrusts grew more frantic, the need she displayed causing him to spill himself into her in mere moments.

He remained settled inside of her, his heavy breaths dying down into a calmer pace of breathing as he savored the twinges her cunt gave around him. She wasn't sated and he knew it, she still attempted to milk some sort of pleasure for herself as she gave little bucks back against him, but she most likely didn't even understand how she could obtain the pleasure in the first place.

He pulled out of her and forced her to her feet, spooning his semen onto his finger and raising it to her mouth, just as before.

Belle opened her mouth, her tear stained face boring into his as she suckled upon his finger.

He did not crumble from the tears, but only allowed his expression to harden. "What do you have to say, pet?" he questioned in the coldest of tones.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, voice broken and hoarse from her previous sobs and cries. "I love you," she gasped aloud, eyes growing watery. "I love you, Francis Ives. I've loved you since the first day we met, when you asked me if I'd rather ride upon Napoleon with you rather than my father. You're my angel, Mr. Ives...it's like...it was like you were sent to me and you knew how scared I was of my pa s-so you saved me."

He wanted to strike her and declare her a liar, but the words were sincere as were her tears. Tears formed in his own eyes as she gave a quiet sob, the previously ruthless Belle gone with her tears as they slid down her face.

He threw his arms around her, pulling her into a crushing embrace. "Oh my Belle," he rasped. "My sweet, sweet, Belle, how will you forgive me for harming you?" he slid to his knees, hugging her hips, his face pressed firmly against the brown curls covering her cunt.

"I only ask for you to forgive me," she softly spoke, her fingers coming to stroke through his hair.

"I do, my lamb, I do!" he declared, kissing her curls over and over, realizing the pain he'd inflicted on her. "I hurt you," he whimpered between kisses, giving a guttural groan as her fingers threaded into his hair and scraped along his scalp.

"Fix it," she spoke softly, the words so childish that he gave another whimper before shoving her tongue into her warmth, lapping frantically at her sore cunt, but never penetrating her. He wanted to fix her aches first, replace them with twinges and bouts of pleasure. Her legs quivered as he paid rampant attention to the bud of nerves above her entrance, gently suckling at it as his fingers danced between her folds to push inside of her, one at a time. He brought her into three heavy orgasms with his mouth and fingers, the last with his tongue deep inside of her and fingers scrubbing at her.

When he removed himself from her, she collapsed onto his lap, clutching onto him and burying her face into his shoulder. He ran his tongue along his lips with a wistful expression on his face. He'd never imagined ever _tasting_ his lamb as he just had, but it was something beyond words, beyond the holiest of wines. She tasted musky and pure, deadly and sweet. He knew he would have her sitting atop his face many times in the future as he lapped her dry, and the thought alone had him aching for more.

"Belle," he breathed, his hand stroking through her tresses as she quivered against him, tears spilling onto his chest.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered, her fingers digging into his waist. "I'm so sorry...I'll never do that again, never. I'll listen to you from now on, Francis, I promise."

The words revived most of his faith in the girl, but he still couldn't help but feel some animosity at her actions. He needed to test her faith and he had the perfect opportunity now that spring was so close. "Belle, my sweet, I forgive you, but I must know you will listen from here on out. That is why I am leaving."

She pulled away, blue eyes wide as she gaped at him. "L-Leave me? Here? Al...Alone?!" more tears spilled from her eyes, mouth slack.

He soothingly rubbed her back, jaw firm as he nodded. "I need to hunt, my sweet. I need to find us more to thrive from as we only have what little remains of Mr. Jones."

"But...you mean people..?" she quietly questioned.

"Of course, what else?" he snorted softly, smirking down at her. "I've been plotting for awhile now, as I had been plotting your companions' demises in this cave. You are a lovely actress, are you not?" he questioned, his other hand moving to cup her cheek.

"I-I...I've never..." she stuttered, flushing. "I've never acted, Mr. Ives," she admitted, slipping up and forgetting his proper name.

"Of course you have, darling girl. You read each night at the fire, remember? You acted just like each character should have in your book, a scared damsel, a brave hero. You will be playing the damsel this time, my sweet," he informed her with kind eyes, knowing that his kindness would comfort the girl into following his commands.

"What are you plotting?" she warily questioned, eyes wary as they searched his face.

"A fort," he stated, quite out of context. "There is a fort below in the valley, about a day and night journey to get there, but full of prey. Pathetic prey. I will go there and play the part of Colqhoun, a sniveling priest that was lured in by the notorious Colonel Ives," he paused to bathe in his wittiness, a proud little smirk on his face. "I will sob about the tale of the Colonel, who lead three men, a lass and myself through the Nevadas and luring us here. I'll tell them one remained when I ran, you," the smirk on his mouth stretched as his eyes locked onto hers. "I will lead them here and allow them to search for you and that is when I strike. All you need to do my sweet is bury my dagger when the ground thaws."

Belle absorbed his words, slowly blinking as she shook her head. "W-Wait...you expect me to aid you with _murder_?" she questioned, shooting him an incredulous glare.

"Either you help and regain my trust, or we starve," Ives all but spat, eyes darkening and smirk fading.

Belle fell silent, no longer wishing to retaliate. "Where am I...to bury your dagger?" she asked, tone withdrawn.

"Where we buried the remains of Spade. Above the bones," he replied, knowing the girl knew the spot by the creek all too well.

"Right, and what if there are many men? What if they find me in here?" she interrogated.

"I can handle them all, believe me," his smirk returned once more, cocky as ever. "And if they do happen to find you, you will play your part of a terrified lamb and scream. Act hysterical, m'dear, and they will be distracted long enough for me to remove them from your sights."

Belle swallowed, feeling a bit faint at the idea of being alone so long. "How will I survive without you..?" she asked, wondering if he even recalled her frantic string of "I love you"'s from earlier. She hated to be alone. She hated to be so unsure. What if someone found her alone? What if some beast lumbered in and attempted to maul her?

"I will cut the remains of Jones for you and leave them in the lower depths of the cave where they will remain fresh for the few days I am gone. All you need to do is keep the fire alive and well. Boil snow, roast the meat, combine the two and you have stew. Enough to last you a long while. No one will find you here. Nobody knows of this place besides myself and you must trust me, darling. I've remained in this cave for years without a single soul stumbling upon me."

Belle frowned lightly, but nodded, trusting in him. "I'll wait for you, Francis. I'll be here when you return."

"You will do as I say?" he questioned.

She nodded, jaw tight. She didn't want to be responsible for any deaths, but in her chest, she could feel a jabbing cry for blood, for meat. She was hungering so very badly and she wanted, no _needed_ more. "When will you leave?"

"Before the sun rises. Until then, I will be here with you," he murmured.

The two remained tangled together in his furs during the remainder of his time in the cave, fucking and comforting one another as they pleased.

Soon, he dressed and disappeared for a few moments, returning with a Mr. Jones's heavy hide jacket on and looking the part of his sniveling Colqhoun.

He leaned down to the girl as she lay tangled in his pelts, sad eyed and rosy cheeked. He pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was sweet, but claiming, as his teeth had latched onto her lower lip, only dragging her lip with them as he pulled back. He released her and straightened before exiting.

Belle watched him go with a twinge of malice.

He was wearing _her_ father's hat.

He was clutching _her_ father's rosary beads.

He had stolen them without a single question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always been curious about the buried dagger. How long had it been there? Ives buried it, knowing he would return? Instead, I took my own liberties with that little plot hole. 
> 
> Thanks to crazie for helping me, as always. Even if she thought Napoleon was THE Napoleon Bonaparte.
> 
> And finally, thank YOU for reading this and leaving kudos. It really means so, so much to me and I love that people enjoy this! I do hope my smut is proficient, though!


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was alone, but the demons and memories past lurked around each corner. 
> 
> That was, until she heard the shouts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loss of sanity, violence, Boyd, Reich, and more up yonder. Then again, it's Ravenous. What do you expect? :) 
> 
> I own nothing but my little plot bunnies

Belle French was not one to depend on herself.

Before, she'd only dreamt for the chance to be independent, but now she despised it. She had imagined her own independence as something that many marveled of, but she never imagined it in this manner, not alone in a dank cave full of death and past lovemaking.

If it could even be called lovemaking.

And yet now she realized she was _dependent_.

Belle French was not one who _enjoyed_ to depend on _others._

She was accustomed to being coddled, whether it was by the elderly women of Papa's parish or by Papa himself on his good days, but those times were all in the past.

She now relied solely on Francis Ives. The man she both loved and hated.

So many things had happened within the past few days, so many that it made her mind spin to even try and think upon them. Was she even here? Was this all a silly dream? Maybe she was still in her small creaky room in her small creaky house in Alabama, settled in her tiny creaky bed.

She was Belle. She was the preacher's daughter that tucked herself away in the confessional booth during mass to read. She was the girl that told herself that one day she would have the chance to be brave. She was meant to grow up as a good person, she was meant to _be_ a good person.

Instead, she sat by, idle and behaved as Francis Ives killed her companions and fed her their flesh. She had tried to put up a fight against his constant ministrations, but she didn't want to starve. She was too afraid of death. She ate whatever he fed her, obedient as could be.

She wanted more. As terrible and wrong as she knew it was, she _needed_ more. She craved it the moment after she finished eating the stew Ives had prepared her.

After she cooked a piece of Mr. Jones on the poker left by Ives, she had thrown the metal rod away from her with quivering hands, running up the long path to the entrance of the cave to vomit into the melting snow.

She couldn't do it. Demons were roaring and fighting inside of her and she couldn't stop them. She was stuck in the middle of being a good soul and running from the cave until she found help or being a bad soul and feeding as much as she wished, following Ives's orders and patiently awaiting his arrival. She found herself scrambling back into the cave, grasping onto the meat and greedily eating it like a rabid, starved animal.

She thought of the man that had ruthlessly murdered his poor pet and began to smile at the realization.

Mr. Jones could know how it felt to be Spade. To be eaten like a dog. He didn't deserve to be a dog though.

He was a pig.

She found herself sitting at the mouth of the cave when she wasn't kindling the fire or sleeping, watching for Francis, waiting for the supposed search party that he was gathering. Their dinner.

The snow was melting and the creek outside of the cave had begun to get louder and louder with the addition of the snow's water. She knew soon she would be able to properly dig into the soil and bury Francis's dagger.

She had foolishly tried to escape the man that kept her tied to him with sweet words and feelings, taking the hunting dagger he had left with his satchel and stabbing him.

She hadn't done it so easily, but had sat beside him, naked and trembling with the dagger laying heavily in her hand for quite awhile.

He was a devil, hidden behind a suave smile and gentle touches. Because of him, she had eaten flesh. Because of him, she had given up her virginity. It felt good to stab him, but at the same time it chilled her to the bone.

She loved him. She loved him and she had realized this as she stabbed him. He had protected her from her father and it had been so subtle that she'd hardly realized it. During their journey he had always suggested for the girl to stay with him, whether it was on his horse or out in the woods, searching for berries and twigs.

He would always be touching her some way or another in those moments stolen away from her father, whether it be a hand on her shoulder or his fingers combing through her tresses.

Belle never thought anything of it, but instead savored his comforting touch. His simple need for her companionship made her feel _safe_. 

And now it had become something with much more meaning. Francis had soiled her and for that, she loved him.

She loved him and ached for him throughout the day, almost more than she ached to eat.

Her loins felt burnt and sore from his rather large member intruding upon her most private of places. It ached and yet she still yearned for him, especially after feasting upon another piece of Mr. Jones. Belle hadn't been aware that such feelings could be even felt from a finger alone, but when Ives had placed his mouth on her, she wanted to claw into his skin until he bled.

She thought of such things while she held his hunting dagger in her hand, still stained with his blood. She wondered how the hilt would feel if she touched it to herself, would it be the same as Francis? She flushed at the realization that she actually had no clue _what_ she was supposed to call him. Should she resume referring to it as his member? Or as the books called it, his erection? The dagger hilt was quite hefty...perhaps-

Belle jerked her head to the side to rattle her thoughts away, spitefully staring off into the forests. She was a disgusting girl. A revolting, sick girl. She was no longer the sweet girl that dreamed of heroics, but the polluted wife of the devil.

As she was coming to realize, as much as she hated it, but she also loved it.

Belle stared blankly at the round stone marking the grave of the unfortunate dog, dropping the heavy dagger besides the grave marker. It made a hollow thump against the loose dirt. It was a dull noise, one that was quite similar to how she currently felt, Belle decided with a stifled little sigh.

She absolutely hated being alone. It terrified her. She had put up a strong front for Francis, wanting him to leave with a confident smirk. Confident in her.

Belle was absolutely fine by herself during the days, but the nights terrorized her. She always had to keep the fire burning, even through the night. She found that a few logs (which had previously been chopped up for her by Ives) always kept the fire smouldering in the morning, but the cave always grew dark.

It was so hollow and large where she slept; the dark seemed to hide the demons that threatened to choke her in her sleep. Belle always curled up into Ives's furs with tears in her eyes, covering herself completely. The pelts smelled like him. Sometimes she was able to imagine it was him keeping him warm and not the blankets.

No matter how scared she was, she always did sleep, eventually. She slept with dreams and nightmares, some leaving her flustered and aching for him to make her feel pleasure from his mouth as he did before and others leaving her with the desire to wilt away into nothing.

All she wanted was for her Ives to return to her and keep her safe in his arms once more.

She had to, no, she _needed_ to show Ives she was trustworthy.

Belle French was a good girl. _Really, I am. I had to eat the flesh. Had to eat Mr. Ives's...stuff. A good 'lil...good little girl in a very hard situation where she must do...bad things._

She managed a bleary smile as she dug into the musky earth with her fingers, digging only a few inches before lifting the dagger to her mouth and pressing her lips to the cool blade. A kiss for luck, she decided. Belle carefully placing his dagger into the small hole and covered it with the dirt that had bunched together before her knees. She gave the loosened earth a pat for good measure before standing and taking a step back.

She felt a giddy rush in her chest, one that had her wanting to shout to the birds above. _I did it. I did as he asked._ She only needed to play her part of the priest's scared daughter, held captor by the terrible Colonel Ives.

Belle giggled to herself as she sashayed back into the cave, her body waving side to side as if she were walking across a tightrope. _He does look quite ferocious with that scraggly beard. Perhaps he will trim it for me. I've been such a good girl, how could he say no?_

* * *

That night, she didn't fear the demons lurking in the shadows, but instead welcomed them. The cave no longer seemed so daunting, but rather, quite comforting.

She still remembered when they had first come to the cave, starved and cold. Francis had led them on like the adamant leader he was, telling them that they _must_ hold on and keep walking.

They could no longer ride Napoleon, nor could Mr. Jones and Mr. MacCready sit atop their wagon with Moe in the back, letting their horses do all the work. The ice and snow had made the trail much too slushy and broken for the horses to properly walk upon with added weight. Belle didn't want poor Napoleon to break a leg from slipping on the ice.

The cave hadn't appeared to be so eerie when they found it, but instead, a godsend. Papa had forced them to pray right there before entering. Mr. Ives hadn't liked it one bit, Belle could tell. He never bowed his head during prayer, but would always watch her with his dark eyes as she prayed. She knew this because she would always peek and meet his gaze.

Belle and Ives always had secrets like these.

Their other secret had been Napoleon.

Belle had overheard the men talking about their current situation.

"I can't find shit to eat out there, Colonel," spat Mr. MacCready as he smoked the last bit of snuff he had left. "I say fuck it and eat the goddamn horses."

Belle heard a murmur of agreement come from her papa and Mr. Jones. The girl lifted her head from her cot, looking over to the group of men.

Ives had said nothing, but met her unsure gaze. Belle didn't want them to hurt Napoleon. Francis had told her he was a mean young stallion, but the horse adored Belle, always bumping her with his nose. He only nodded towards her as she blankly stared at him. Somehow, she understood what he wanted her to do. It was as if they could speak without words.

Belle stood all at once, moving to tug on her winter cloak. It a beautiful cloak her mama had made her before her death. The cloak was a mint green with darker green etchings all about, just like the trees that surrounded them.

Belle had claimed she was going out to relieve herself. Papa didn't seem to care very much, which only strengthened her resolve.

Belle walked out to where Napoleon was tied, stroking his matted black furs, soggy from the snow. "Please, find a new home, find a new life..." she softly murmured as she approached the horse's head. "You can't be here, they'll eat you whole," she held the horse's snout in her hands, forcing his dark eyes to gaze into hers. "Please. Go," she moved to untie him from the tall pine tree that Ives had attached him to, stepping back as the horse snorted.

Napoleon took a step towards her, eyes calm and understanding as he moved in, nudging Belle's chestnut locks with his snout one last time before trotting off, vanishing between the trees.

Belle kicked his tracks away, giving Mr. MacCready's horses a woeful stare. She had no time to free them, knowing that someone would surely come looking for her if she took too long.

She ran into the cave after, claiming that Napoleon was missing.

Ives cursed, pretending to be livid as he walked past her. The others moved to stand, but he halted them, spinning on his heel. "He's my steed, I shall search for him," he muttered.

Belle followed him, nonetheless.

He had praised her outdoors, a firm hand on her shoulder as she smiled dazedly out into the trees.

She had never suspected the disappearance of Mr. Jones had been his fault.

Nor Mr. MacCready.

Not even Papa.

Such thoughts should've made her sad, but Belle was quite happy where she was.

The happiness faded as she heard the shout.

_"Miss French!"_

She had been sitting by the fire, daydreaming away when the man's voice reverberated through the cave walls.

Belle had been preparing for this moment, and yet it made her tremble with anxiety. Someone was about to invade her dark sanctuary. Someone that wasn't Ives.

_"Colonel Ives?!"_

She blanched, retreating from the fire and backing away across the dirty ground to the nearest wall. They thought he was in there with her, of course. Holding her captive. She was to act as a captive. Terrified. Hopeless.

The voice called out no longer, but she heard talking outdoors, orders. They were about to invade.

Belle jumped as she heard scuffling and clanking. Steps. They were nearing. Her trembling wouldn't stop, not even as she dug her fingernails into her bare arms to stop it.

Someone was walking along the winding trail into the deeper caverns. Someone was coming and Belle wanted them to leave. She wanted them to leave and never come back.

"Blood..." she heard a man murmur.

Then she saw them.

They didn't see her, but instead peered down into the hole that Mr. Ives had pleaded for her to avoid.

The man peering down into the hole was pasty with blonde hair that so light that it appeared to be white. The other had scruffy dark hair and appeared to be quite young. He seemed meek, almost.

Belle watched them from her wall, her hand clamped over her mouth. She bit into her flesh, trying to keep the sobs from escaping as she shook. She wanted them to leave. They hurt her just by standing there. They polluted her home with each breath.

Belle screamed. She screamed because she wanted them to fear her. She wanted them to look upon her as if she would send the demons from the dark to devour them whole.

However, it had the opposite effect.

The blonde man aimed his pistol directly at her, causing her to give another, earsplitting screech. "Get out!" she howled at them, her feet slamming against the cold floor. "Leave!"

The meek man's hand quickly moved in, pushing the blonde man's pistol down. "She's lost her mind," the blonde man spat, watching her from afar with wide eyes.

"She's scared," the meek man replied. Even his voice was meek.

Both men approached her and Belle gave another cry, trying to push herself away from them. The meek man moved to crouch beside her, his eyes glistening in the darkness. "We're getting you out of here," he told her in his quiet voice.

"Where is Ives?" the other man abruptly asked, surveying the cave around them. "What the hell happened here?"

Belle said nothing. She knew men felt pity for pathetic creatures. She made herself pathetic. She threw herself at the meek man, clenching onto his jacket with her fingers. "Get me out," she rasped, her throat already aching from her screams. "Please. Get. Me. _Out_."

The men exchanged glances before the blonde man finally spoke. "We'll get you out in just a moment, Miss French. I want to look down this hole."

She released the meek man, slowly backing herself against the wall once more, eyes wide. "Hurry," she pleaded, throwing in a petite sniffle.

The quiet man nodded, giving her one last glance before following the other to inspect the hole.

Belle did not like the blonde man, she decided.

He was rude, incompetent.

The other man was understanding. She wondered what Ives thought of him.

The blonde man sat his lantern down, stuffing his pistol away as he glanced down at the hole. He slowly looked up to the meek man, feigning surprise. "Oh I'm sorry," he spoke in his raspy voice. "After you, _captain_ ," he motioned to the hole.

Belle silently glared at him from the wall, wishing he would fall into the pit. Captain. She knew both men must've been in the military to wear such garments and dwell within the fort, but a captain?

The blonde man didn't give the other a chance to clamber into the hole, but went first anyway, grunting loudly lowered himself into the hole. "Captain," he spat again, causing Belle to take a step closer.

The meek captain had his rifle pointing towards him as he grasped onto the rope leading into the hole. Belle thought it was a shame that the captain didn't shoot.

There was an extended moment of silence until she heard the same voice from before shout into the cave. _"Reich! Boyd!"_

The quiet man spoke, his voice almost boyish to Belle. "Reich. Reich, the colonel's calling us," he called into the hole.

Belle frowned, something clearly was happened outside of the cave, but what? Had Ives made his move?

The blonde man, Reich, didn't reply, but scuffled along until he finally seemed to halt. "Jesus!" Belle heard him huff.

"How many did he say in the party, five, right?" Reich called.

"Why?" Boyd replied, his gaze on Belle as she came into the light.

She wondered what she looked like. Was she pale and frightened, stained with blood? Or did she look the part of her darkened half, dark eyed and observant?

She had little time to wonder.

"It's a trap!" cried Reich. The man was soon out of the hole, which now glowed from the fire started from the foolish man dropping his lantern.

Belle stared down into the flaming pit, mesmerized. It was as if a hole to hell had been created.

"He killed everyone but her," Reich spoke, breathing heavily. "Colquhoun killed everyone!" he started to yell as he broke into a run up the path towards the entrance.

"Come on!" Boyd took her arm, practically dragging the girl with him as he ran after the man ahead.

Reich resumed yelling and Belle was much too enraptured with trying to keep up to care, but as soon as the man shouted, "Kill him!" her defenses rose.

"No!" she cried, not unheard by Boyd, who paused momentarily, eyes wide as he stared at her.

"What are you-" he was cut off as he heard Reich ahead.

Belle followed them into the light, noting a man with spectacles, squirming and bleeding on the ground.

Boyd released her, running to crouch beside the man as he spit up dark tendrils of blood, sputtering and gasping.

The two men had a brief struggle, Reich trying to drag Boyd from the dying man to save their remaining comrade, who was crying and screaming across the creek.

Belle had a smile on her face, despite her best try to remain scared. Surely Ives was across the creek too.

"He's dead now soldier, move!" shouted Reich before running across the creek. " _BOYD!_ " he shouted, bringing the meek captain from his stupor.

"S-Stay..." he looked to Belle, realizing that the terrible Colquhoun would surely come back and harm her if she remained where she was. "Come on," he grasped onto her wrist, tugging her into the woods after Reich.

They ran through the trees for a long while until a scream erupted from behind them, Belle breathless and quite tired of being whipped around by the captain as he tugged her in the opposite direction.

They paused and Belle had to stifle her laughter as she heard a high pitched cackle. _My Ives..._ He sounded like a madman. An absolute nutter.

All was silent afterwards and they proceeded forward at a slow pace, both men jerking to the side at even the faintest sound.

They paused for a long moment and Belle craned her neck to see around Boyd, eyes widening as she caught sight of Francis, hunched over and seemingly wiping his blade.

He made eye contact with Reich, a wide smile on his face before shouting at the man, breaking off into a run.

They ran again until both men halted, Boyd giving a disgusted breath. Belle saw a raggedy man on the ground, eyes still open and stomach wide open.

She could feel her previous meal from Mr. Jones roiling in her stomach, but the _blood_. It hit her nose all at once, sickly sweet and tempting. Her eyes were fixated on the dead man, mouth watering.

She was a disgusting girl. She truly was.

But she found herself enjoying it.

"Let's go kill that bastard," her head jerked up as Reich spoke, her teeth clenched. She wished for that dagger. She would've stabbed the man where he stood.

They ran again, this time leaving Belle behind.

The girl paused, looking to the dead man for a moment, pushing her desires away and following the two men as they ran.

Ives was everywhere

His scent was everywhere, lingering in Belle's nose and driving her wild. It was almost as if he _was_ the forests around them, at every and each corner.

"I'm gonna go back. I'm gonna go back," she spotted Boyd, backing away from the other man.

He was scared. He _was_ like a boy after all, it seemed.

The man with the whitish blonde hair didn't seem to care. He was a severe man, Reich, always grinding his teeth and running here and there.

He kept pushing them to go.

She jumped as Ives's appeared, almost as if out of thin air. He threw his dagger as if it were a spear, grinning as it thudded into Reich's chest with a satisfying thump.

Blood coated his teeth, causing Belle to realize that he had _fed_ from the man with his stomach open, just like that.

Ives turned his smile to Boyd, eyes briefly flickering to hers before stepping forward.

All at once, Boyd shot him.

" _NO!_ " Belle shrieked, scrambling forwards to Ives as he fell.

She heard Boyd running away, most likely after his fallen comrade. She didn't care. He could fall with him.

Ives was on the ground. Eyes shut, blood fresh.

She started to weep. Quietly, at first, but soon in sobbing howls. "Francis," she pleaded, grasping onto his shirt and shaking him. "Wake up, you said you would return!" she spat. "You said you had it all planned!"

Ives's eyes opened, giving a loud groan as his body began to twitch, first his fingers, but soon his arms.

He was playing possum.

He rose in one, deft swoop, his arm sliding about her waist and tugging her against him. "What did I tell you, my sweet lamb?" he crooned as he laughed. "We cannot die."

"He shot you," she blubbered, burrowing her face into his neck, the feel of his warmth after so long exhilarating. "He's a bad man. He shot you," she repeated, a dark, smouldering anger making her heart clench.

"That he did," Ives spoke in a growl as he stood, moving to toy with the pathetic captain as he attempted to escape, jumping in his way each time.

He rounded on Boyd at the edge of the cliff, like a wolf with his prey as he growled at the man, lunging at him.

Belle watched as Boyd made the most idiotic of decisions.

The man jumped.

Belle scrambled to Ives's side, watching the man disappear down into the trees.

Francis gave a low growl before he finally turned to look down at Belle, eyes flickering with a passion of sorts that she knew was reserved for her and her alone.

She only stared back at him, chest heaving and eyes wide.

Both threw themselves at each other all at once, kissing with utter desperation and yearning. The fresh blood coating his teeth smeared across her lips and teeth as they mashed their mouths together, hands roaming each other with such desperation that one would've thought they hadn't seen one another for years.

Ives knew the young captain still lingered about below. He saw the potential, not nearly as appealing Belle's potential had been, but it was a rare thing to find a man that appeared as if he could one day accept the wendigo ways.

Francis pulled back, looking upon his precious lamb. She appeared much more healthy than he previously recalled, but her face was pale and harrowed. The blood from his last meal was painted across her face and lips, making the idea of throwing her down and fucking her right there highly appealing.

And yet the captain still lived. A wendigo did not let his prey escape.

He turned to see her watching him with concerned eyes. "Please don't leave me again," she breathed, her breath hitched and broken. "I was scared, Francis. I was strong, but I was scared without you," her eyes were full of tears, making his heart clench

_Fuck Boyd._

He moved in at once, tugging her into a tight embrace. "Never again, lamb," he vowed, resting his chin upon the crown of her head. "Never."

Belle smiled against his chest, a greedy, pleased glint in her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it, the Ravenous plot continues and we're finally outdoors for once. I really had a blast writing this chapter and I do hope you enjoyed. 
> 
> Thanks to Crazie as always, my dearest Ivesey, for helping me along.
> 
> And thanks to you all. I'll admit I'm not very AO3 savvy so I was utterly worried by the comments where people said they've already left kudos...I totally thought I needed to do something to correct that, but it's just the way AO3 works! So thanks :)


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's changed during his time away. She doesn't rebel against eating the flesh, but instead, she seems content. 
> 
> No longer is she the girl with the scared eyes and unsure frowns, but she is the Belle he often adored during their journey. The Belle that smiled and teased. The Belle that laughed freely and with meaning. He would do anything to keep her this way.

She kissed him again after they embraced, her tongue timidly slipping between his lips, running along his bloody teeth. She drew back, the tang of blood making her stomach roil with hunger. She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, worrying at it with her teeth as she looked away from him and over towards the cliff, where Boyd had foolishly thrown himself from. "What about him, Francis? Do you...Do you think he survived?"

"Oh, he did," he murmured, moving to wrap an arm around her small frame. "That will be dealt with in time, but for now, let me look at you," he gently gripped her by the shoulders, turning her around to face him once more.

She was surprised at how tender his voice and touch were after hearing his howls and hoots as Reich and Boyd chased after him. She had seen the aftermath of Colonel Francis Ives, the ruthless destruction of each man she passed as she followed the two men seeking to end him. To hear him speak so softly, so tenderly. She knew it was a ton of voice reserved for her and only her.

He seemed pleased with the way she appeared, though in all truths Ives felt a bit uncomfortable with how pale the girl seemed. Had she been that lonely without him? _She knows nothing other than me. Do I truly want to go back to that damned fort with her? Do I want her anywhere near another man?_

The thought of his sweet Belle with another had his heart clenching and his blood feeling more like fire in his veins, his grip no longer gentle on her shoulder, but tight. She winced slightly, looking up at him with a flicker of an annoyed expression on her face. "How do you...feel?" he slowly questioned, his dark eyes searching as they bore into hers.

"Stronger," she quietly replied. "I don't like it, the flesh. I don't like how you obtained it, but...I didn't like those men..." she glared spitefully off to the side. "Tugging me this way and that, saying they wanted to...kill you. It scared me. I wanted to stop them."

 _Loyal._ The realization made him shiver with delight. He had a mate. A true, loyal mate. After all of the years he spent alone and lost, he had finally found a beacon of light amid the dark nights alone in the forests. She spoke as if she intended to stop the men herself. Oh, how he'd love to watch his lamb fight back. She had no clue of the strength she possessed as a wendigo. Not a single clue. "My Belle," his voice was a guttural breath as he drew her back to him, smothering her in another tight embrace.

They remained still until he felt a strange sensation at his shoulder and drew back, surprised to see that Belle was latched onto him, her teeth tugging at the his coat. "What..." he trailed off, watching her draw back with innocent eyes. "Hungry?" he asked with a huff of amusement, jerking off the black coat and tossing it aside.

"No," she quickly replied with a bashful smile. "Francis, I don't understand a single thing that we've done," she mumbled, bashfully looking to the ground. "I mean, I understand what...it is, but I want to bite you and kiss you and I want you to do what we did before... _fuck_ as you call it."

The word shot straight to his cock, making him twinge so suddenly that he almost groaned. "What..?" he repeated, wishing to hear the word come from her innocent lips once more.

"Fuck," she repeated, a smirk dancing upon her lips as he visibly winced, his hand moving to splay across her hip. "I had these urges while you were gone and I didn't know how to sate them and make them leave me..."

"Let me," he groaned, his other hand moving to cup her buttocks and pull her to him. His mouth pressed to hers with the utmost fervency, Belle's lips curling into a grin as she kissed back, her eyes sliding shut. He was surprised to feel her hand wander to his tented trousers, her fingers curling around him through the fabric.

 _Getting brave, my sweet lamb?_ He gave a startled moan, jerking the girl away from him and taking a step back, his hand waving in front of him, as if trying to keep her from touching him again in such ways. "No, no, no," he murmured, fingers trembling as attempted to run them through his scraggly, knotted hair.

"D-Did I do something wrong?" Belle tentatively questioned, eyes wide as she took a step back. Her hair was disheveled and her lips were smeared with blood, formerly Private Toffler's blood passed from his mouth to hers from their kissing.

"No, of course not," he replied, moving towards her once more, his hand moving to cup her cheek.

"You acted like I hurt you, Francis...I thought..." Belle trailed off, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"No, no, Belle," he pressed his lips to her forehead, smudging more blood against her pale skin. He knew he would lose himself if she touched him in such ways. To take her again as he had before, ruthlessly plundering her cunt...Francis couldn't bring himself to even think of the tears that had stained her face after.

"Please, Francis," she softly pleaded. "I want you, I've wanted you all week," her soft hands were on his face, drawing his lips down to hers. "Please."

"Anything for you," he managed to groan as his hands moving to grasp her hips, jerking her body flush against his. "Fuck. That's the word," his mouth moved to her neck, teeth clasped around her pulse point. His tongue was flat against her skin as his hand slid down beneath her thin skirts, pleased to find that the girl wore nothing beneath. He groaned as he felt her little pulse beat wildly beneath his tongue as his hand brushed along her inner thigh, his erection aching to be buried inside of her.

"Lovemaking," he vaguely heard her murmur as he bit into her soft skin, savoring the sweet taste of her as his tongue slid along the bite marks he had left behind.

He recalled the words coming from her mouth, _"I love you."_

He hadn't replied, but he hadn't felt as if he needed to. His actions spoke loudly enough. He hadn't told a single woman those three words in decades, though he knew Belle would manage to pluck the words from his mouth one day. He sucked her flesh between his teeth, gnawing a bit harder as his fingers slid between her folds, causing the girl to gasp out, hips jerking upwards to try and bring him closer to her. "Please," she whimpered, fingers digging into his shoulders, so much so that he knew there would be marks to observe later.

He sucked on her skin as his fingers explored her little cunt, giving a pleased grunt as he felt how damp she was for him. He coated the bundle of nerves between her legs with that slickness, causing the girl to give a cry loud enough that even Boyd, wherever the cunt was, could surely hear it.

Belle gave a small mewl, arching herself up towards him, her hips jerking to cause more friction between his fingers and the nub that they currently teased. "Please," she whimpered, her chin tilting upwards. He lost himself as her blue eyes met his, the urgency in them making him shiver.

He removed himself from her neck, admiring that dark mark he'd left behind on her, _his_ mark. Belle moved her mouth to his neck, her fingers clutching onto his blouse as she mimicked his previous actions, her teeth nibbling at his skin before she latched onto him, biting and suckling on his neck. He gave another whimpering moan, his fingers scrubbing frantically at her in response to her explorations.

She never removed herself from his neck, even as he hitched the thin girl up in his arms. Ives was pleased as her legs locked around her hips, but Belle was not as his hand left her to fumble to undo his trousers. He found himself pressing her up against the nearest vertical object that he could find, a hefty looking elm tree, so he could properly free himself.

Belle peppered his face with kisses all the while, fingers combing through his unruly hair. His mouth found hers once more, his tongue pushing past her lips and stroking hers, grinning against her mouth as her small tongue writhed in response to his. She pulled back, eyes fluttering heavenward, "Please, Francis," she pleaded, her little voice so breathy, so desperate. He'd corrupted little Belle French, the girl who had previously blushed just from his gaze alone. He had and he would resume to corrupt the little minx.

"Of course, my lamb," he replied as he finally freed himself, letting the girl slide down against the lean tree and closer to his straining erection.

Her impatience was endearing, the way she wiggled herself and gave those soft grunts as she tried to lower herself closer to his cock.

He finally pulled her down, guiding himself into her as she slid downwards. He slammed a clenched fist against the tree as her tight warmth slid around him, enveloping him to a complete new extent of depth. "Belle," he gasped, his voice a few octaves higher as he drank in the feel of her. She was as tight as she had been the night he stole her maidenhead, but the difference to him now was that the girl didn't give any hushed whimpers of pain or discomfort. Instead, she welcomed him with her dampness, the moan she uttered so sickeningly sweet that he could've spilled inside of her right there.

He wrapped an arm around her, his teeth grit as he struggled to keep his movements slow and gentle. The girl was not accustomed to this... _lovemaking_ by any means, even if she felt she was somewhat experienced.

And yet when she pressed her lips to the space below his ear and whispered, "More," he lost himself, thrusting frantically up into her tight cunt without a single hesitation.

Her dress would be ruined from the tree bark and her back might've even had some scratches, but the girl didn't care. Belle burrowed her face into his neck, her soft little breaths coming out in puffs against his skin. It felt good, yes, but the... _feeling_ was missing. The feeling of a snake coiling in her loins, ready to come loose and throw her into fits of pleasure. "Francis," she murmured, as if trying to alert him to this. She didn't understand, she didn't and she wanted to so desperately. She had no books to tell her, no close friends to ask. She only had Francis.

And Francis _knew_. He knew and Belle found herself no longer hiding away in the crook of his neck, but gazing into his dark eyes as he pistoned himself up into her with such force that her legs felt weak around his waist.

His fingers moved between them, finding the small nub with ease. He stilled himself completely, the girl panting against him as his hand moved to hold her chin in his hand, thumb stroking her jaw. Ives found his hips twitching against her, even as he struggled to keep himself still. "Do you want this, lamb? This life? Killing, feasting and fucking? Do you want it?"

"Yes," she all but gasped, giving a giggle as he assaulted her neck with more nibbles and kisses. Francis resumed thrusting into her once more, his fingers quick to continue to scrub at her.

Her smile faded and her mouth fell open in a silent moan, eyes wide and glazed as she came uncoiled, throbbing around Ives with such intensity as he kept his fingers rubbing her that he found himself spilling into her shortly after she first clenched around his cock.

They were both coated in a sheen of sweat as they remained where they were, Ives hunched over with his face buried into her shoulder as he caught his breath. He could've fucked her again after that, perhaps again after that, but he wanted to feed his mischievous little pet and himself. He carefully lifted her off of himself, standing her before him.

The sight of her scraping up his own seed as it slid from her swollen cunt to her inner thigh upon her finger and slip it into her mouth, all whilst gazing at him with those wide blue eyes, sent him damning his hunger. Ives gave a low grunt, shaking his head. "You make it hard not to take you again where you stand," he mused, watching her suckle on her finger for a few moments longer before tugging it away from her mouth.

"It's gotten so long," she murmured, flattening her dress as she moved to loosely stroke his beard with her fingers "Your hair too. I'd say you're in need a good trim, Mr. Ives," she smirked, a teasing glint in her eyes.

"Really, Miss French? I thought you'd enjoy it if I resembled a bear," he licked his thumb, gently using it to wipe the blood from her forehead.

"I prefer you looking like Colonel Ives," she smirked lightly. "Not Colqhoun."

" _Father_ Colqhoun, mind you," he jerked his drawers back up beneath his trousers and re-buttoned as he moved towards the cliff, crouching at its edge on his haunches.

Belle walked up behind him, watching him with a frown. "Francis?" she slowly called, shifted on the balls of her feet, eyes closing as a particularly refreshing breeze whipped against her warm face.

He whistled, his pointing finger slowly shifting downwards. His whistle faded, a cackle escaping his lips as he mimicked the sound of an explosion. He turned back to Belle, a boyish grin on his lips. She only shook her head at his antics, enjoying this side of him. He was proud of himself and he had all rights to be proud, thought Belle. He'd fooled over five men and single handedly managed to disarm and demolish each of them.

All of them save for one.

"You really think he's alive?" she questioned, moving to sit beside him.

Francis watched her with a subtle fondness. Her legs swayed back and forth off of the cliff like it was only a few feet from the ground, not hundreds. Brave Belle. She had always been fearless. She never squealed at the sight of snakes or frogs during their explorations for kindling, but would pluck them from the ground, turning to him with a bright smile on her face. _"Do you reckon this is poisonous?"_ she'd call.

Sometimes he wondered if she had wanted to be bitten during those days. A miserable, hurt girl locked inside of herself, her father treating her with such little contempt or care.

She was his once more. No longer was she the Belle that stared at him with woeful eyes, but she was the Belle that had shot playful smiles to him, the Belle that wasn't afraid to challenge him.

"Yes, John Boyd is a peculiar man," he answered, sitting cross legged beside her. Boyd was different. That much was evident. The man clearly had some demons in his past, but he saw the potential for a powerful wendigo.

Belle leaned in against him, her temple resting against his shoulder. "He was quiet, meek. I don't know if I like him," she murmured. "Why do you..." she frowned, slowly drawing away to eye him with suspicion. "You think he'll...You want him to be like us, don't you?"

He never could slip anything past her.

"Depends," was his short answer. "I suppose we'll find out, but until then, we feast," he stood, gently taking her hand and tugging her up along side him. "Let me get that sniveling little hymn singing whelp back to the cave and after we can do something about this, hm?" he tugged at his beard, smirking at the girl as she rolled her eyes.

"We might have to burn it from your scalp," Belle took her father's black reverend's hat from atop his head and planted it upon her own, walking ahead of him, barefoot and smiling. "What was his name, the hymn singing whelp?"

"Private Toffler," Ives answered in a snort as they approached the dead man. "Stupid as a rock and snively as a bitch in heat," he spoke without reserve or regard, making Belle laugh despite her best try to remain somewhat courteous to the dead man.

He reached down, peering over at the girl as she absently glanced upwards before hefting the scrawny private over his shoulder. "Back to the cave, milady," he called, smirking as she mocked a curtsey towards him.

He dragged the body into the cave, disappearing to retrieve his spare hunting dagger as Belle remained outdoors, a frown on her lips. "Francis," she called, her voice concerned as she stared at the empty space before her. "Francis the man that was here before...he's gone."

Ives emerged with a piece of raw meat from the dead man called Toffler in his hand. He followed her gaze, leaning down to place his other hand into the pool blood on the ground and cursing as he felt the tepidness of it. "Odd," he glanced up to see the Indian was gone as well. _Blast it all. Three bodies reduced to one fucking twig._

"We'll have to be sparing with this," he extended the raw meat to Belle, watching closely as she took it in her trembling hands.

"Raw..?" she questioned, her mouth twisting into an unsure frown. "That's unhealthy, isn't it?

"You're wendigo, my sweet lamb. Nothing will make you sick. Eat it raw and I'll allow you to use those sewing clippers on me," he attempted a charming grin, but it wasn't noticed by the girl as she stared blankly at the flesh. "It's just as good as it is cooked, Belle. Better, even."

She glanced up at him, watching him as he nodded encouragingly before she bit into the flesh all at once, smothering her lips against the meat and ripping at it with her teeth bared. She felt the urge to both gag on the flesh and throw it away from her, but her hunger overwhelmed her to the extent of muffling these urges. Belle ate ravenously, sucking the blood from her fingers as she finished the meaty flesh.

Ives stood back, his expression both dumbfounded and pleased as the girl licked at her paws, eyes greedy. He'd expected more rebellion from her, in all truths, knowing that killing didn't sit well with his Belle, but she actually seemed at ease. "Would you care for more?" he slowly asked, closing the space between them as he stepped in closer to her.

She took a moment, as if deciding how she felt about the flesh before looking up to him. "Yes," she replied, grinning as his lips met hers in a surprisingly chaste kiss. His tongue snaked out to clean the blood from the corner of her mouth as he drew back, causing the girl to jump.

He hopped back just in time to avoid the playful smack that she had thrown, his brows raised as he stepped backwards into the cave. "You go off and do as you please, my sweet," he called, watching the girl grin at him. "In the meantime, I'll get you a bit more to nibble at."

Belle beamed over at him, shaking her head. "I'll look forward to it," her teeth were stained with blood, but it didn't mar the beauty of her smile in the least.

Francis knew she still doubted it all, the deaths and the flesh, but she seemed content in that moment.

She took Moe's hat from her head and tossed it after him before she scampered off, running into the nearby creek without a second thought.

Belle waded down towards the man made cove she had discovered a few days ago, the waters cold, but refreshing. She'd first spotted it during one of her longer walks while Francis was gone,. The waters were much deeper, so deep they reached her neck. How it got so deep, she hadn't been sure until she noted the man made dam nearby that forced the water to settle. One would've had to take many days collecting and placing the rocks. Belle had a sneaking suspicion it had been none other than Francis, seeing that he was the one that knew of this hideaway.

Nonetheless, Belle did love swimming and she had gone far too long without a proper bath. She paddling noisily in her dress, the cool water recreative beyond belief. She dunked her head beneath the surface, plugging her nose with her fingers as she floated underwater, her body and mind at both at complete ease. She found herself floating on her back afterwards for quite awhile, staring up at the skies with a bleary smile.

When she did paddle a bit more, she noted Francis, seated further up the creek on a tiny island of stones, gnawing away at a piece of flesh, still stuck to the bone.

Belle's smile widened as she watched him, eating like a starving wolf having his first meal in days. She resumed her swimming, giggling as Francis gave occasional and random cackles, most likely reflecting on the grandeur and prowess he had shown previously in the day, killing his victims with little problems.

Belle thought he was right to be so pleased with himself. The men had seemed brash and cruel, even Boyd. The man could pretend he was meek and good at heart, but Belle could sense the other side to him, the violent side.

The girl eventually ran up stream, dripping wet as she approached Francis, who had tossed the bone aside, another piece resting on one of their metal plates beside him.

The girl shot him a devilish grin as she noted he was still dry, running to him and noting his pleased expression, pleased even though she was sopping wet and was about to cause him to become the same. She plopped onto his lap, her fingers twining together behind his neck as she kissed at his cheek. "Swim with me, Francis," she tugged at his blouse with her damp fingers, her eyes sparkling no longer with fear or sorrow, but life. The flesh had finally begun to affect his lamb.

"Swim?" he smirked, picking the plate up from his side and hovering it before her face.

Belle rolled her eyes, plucking the meaty bone from the plate. "On second thought," she murmured, immediately setting into the meat with her teeth, tucking her head in against Francis's shoulder. They sat comfortably until she picked the bone clean, tossing the it off into the water with a smile.

"Did you build that dam?" she questioned, giving a tiny yawn.

"I did," he replied, recalling the hours spent waist deep in the water, setting the stones atop one another.

"Oh," was all Belle said before another question came to mind. "I can give you a trim?" she asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I suppose. I am a man of my word, after all," he agreed with a lazy shrug of his shoulders.

"Swim first," Belle hopped to her feet, tugging at his wrists. "Come along, Francis!"

He smirked, forgetting that she still was but a girl in some aspects, bouncing and excited for fun and adventure. He would be sure to provide both.

Ives tore his blouse off, tossing it aside as he walked after Belle as she hopped about in front of him, his shoulders hunched forward menacingly. "You had better run, little miss," he feigned a growl, just as he had previously had growled towards Boyd.

Belle gave a screech, scampering down towards the cove as he resumed stripped himself of his clothing, down to his trousers before they both stilled at a stranger's voice.

"Father?"

Belle was surprised at Francis's quick reaction, for he was there in front of her and blocking her view of the stranger before she could even glance upwards. The voice was familiar though, and she knew who it was immediately.

The man who had called her name into her and Ives's cave.

The man who was missing, the one who spat up blood and burbled helplessly as Boyd tried to find someway to help him.

She clutched onto Francis, slowly peering out from behind him. The man was alive and standing, more blood on his face.

Belle felt a sinking feeling in her chest as she peered up at Francis, who wore a guarded expression on his face.

The blood on the man's face was not his own.

Not his own at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say my biggest concern in this whole story is the smut. I constantly worry that it isn't that good or that interesting. When you've read some of the amazing smut from other anyelle and rumbelle authors, it's hard to feel confident at times. 
> 
> Even so, I've got Ivesey telling me it was good, so I will remain happy with that! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for being so supportive about this with your comments and such!


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Colonel Hart is skiddish like a wild animal. Belle doesn't like it, nor does Ives, but the proposition he brings with him is appealing. To one of them it is, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, JoyfulSerenade, for betaing this chapter! Also, thank you Crazie for always helping me out with characterization and for making me giggle a lot. 
> 
> I'm rather proud of this smut, for once! Growing more confident in writing it, at least!

A territorial growl rippled from Francis's throat as he kept his arm extended, as if to hold Belle back from the prying man before them.

The bumbling Colonel Hart wore a hesitant grin as he watched Ives. There was something that was highly irritating in that grin, something left Ives with the urge to slice the man's lips from his face.

"Or do you prefer colonel?" the man questioned, his smile wavering and eyes jumping every which way. Ives stared at the man for a long moment, trying to decide how the man had accepted the flesh. There was a difference in each person once they had tasted the flesh of their own kind, but they could be categorized.

Many, like Belle, were guilty, horrified. They usually killed themselves, though his lamb had gotten past that stage.

Others, like Hart, ended up wild. They killed without regard to who found the bodies. If he was hungry enough, the man would most likely kill someone on the street. Ives knew this because he saw the look in Colonel Hart's eyes, the looks of being a wild animal, nervous and feral.

Colonel Hart believed in some senses that he was the worst predator out there. His newly obtained strength made him cocky, but he was no threat to Ives.

Any colonel that dropped his own ammunition wasn't a threat in Francis's eyes.

His primal instincts were taking over as he stared at Hart. He had intended on swimming with Belle, fuck her, eat again in the cave, fuck her again and perhaps sleep somewhere in the mix, his nose buried in her chestnut tresses.

Now, none of such would happen because of the fool before him who had obviously decided to feast upon his little native companion.

"I was surprised to find out that Miss French wasn't a captive, but _with_ you. Really," Hart admitted as he strode over to the hole left in the ground from Ives's frantic digging, mouth twitching. "You're just like him, aren't you?" he directed his attention towards Belle, squinting through his spectacles. The man seemed on the verge of hysterics from his constant twitches.

The girl immediately pressed herself to Francis's back, her fingers clawing into his bare skin so hard that he felt a shiver ripple from his chest, proceeding straight to his groin. The girl was only wearing her thin gown, which was damp and clinging to her skin. If she moved a single bit, the other colonel would surely see _all_ of her. The patch of dark curls between her legs, her dark nipples poking through the fabric.

Francis simply couldn't have that. He snorted softly, his eyes watching Hart's every move.

He expected the girl to remain against him, but she slowly moved herself, just enough that her face was visible to the colonel. "Why are you here?" she spoke, her tone low.

It was almost as if the girl could decipher Ives angry snorting at the man. His own little translator.

"Oh, I just decided to go on a stroll, test out the... _strength_ I've acquired," the man casually replied as he examined the hole where Belle had so precariously placed Francis's dagger.

"And how do you intend to do that?" Ives finally spoke out, his voice dropped to a scrutinizing rasp.

"I had my taste of the flesh, my taste of the strength. I want _more_ ," Hart pushed his spectacles up as he stood up, turning to Ives. "I assume if you're willing enough to take the girl in, you'll take another pack member?"

"Just _what_ are you proposing?" Ives spat, dark eyes narrowed. Hart was treading on thin ground as it was with his irritating fidgeting.

"We return to the fort, but with you as a colonel, replacing the men we've lost today. You just need to..." the man gesturing to his chin, trying not to seem insulting. "Trim up a bit and get a uniform. I can forge the papers necessary to get you back into service. You come to Fort Spencer and we can start something big. A whole pack of these...wendigos."

Francis felt a vibration against his back as Belle gave a hum of disapproval, her fingers only digging deeper against his bare skin.

"A pack, you say?" Ives frowned, scoffing lightly. "You think we won't be discovered? You and your _normal_ folk always find things. Stick your nose in places that should not be disturbed."

"Fort Spencer is a desolate place, but it has plenty of traveling families and men coming through. We pick as they pass. Some die. Some live, but we will have a _constant_ flow of meals, constant flesh, constant power," Hart explained, a bright grin on his face. The man crouched down after this, plucking something from the ground.

Belle had chosen then to peer out, curious eyes going dull as she saw the mutilated, decaying paw emerge in Hart's grip.

He had unearthed Spade. Her precious friend.

The dog had always preferred her to Jones, always running to nudge her and lick at her face.

Belle's hand thrust out immediately, gripping onto the grip of the hunting dagger that Francis had sheathed on his belt. It was a natural thing for her body to do in that moment, something the girl never thought of resorting to before. Violence.

She wanted to slit Hart's fat throat and watch him choke. She wanted to stab him in the gut again and again, watch his eyes bulge. She wanted to smear his blood on the walls and draw pictures of his death.

She was jerked from the images of grandeur as Ives hand slammed around her own in an iron grip. His eyes were soft as they found hers. His mouth moved, forming the words _"No,"_ to the girl.

Tears bubbled to her eyes as she sniffled indignantly. "But Mr. Ives, he..." she whimpered, chest heaving as she struggled to calm the searing anger coursing throughout her body. "He's trifled enough," she softly hissed, glad that the man was at a distance that he wouldn't be able to hear her angry words.

"We need food, Belle," Francis replied heatedly between grit teeth. "I will fucking _skin_ him for you when I can, but after he gives us these papers."

Belle's eyes were dim as she jerked her hand from his grip, her mouth formed into a snarl.

Hart had tossed the paw away with a disgusted sneer, turning to Ives. "Well?" he asked expectantly.

"What of her? She is to come with me," Francis motioned to the girl, who had turned away from him, walking to the stream's shore and seating herself, arms hugged tightly around her legs.

"Your wife. It'll even lower suspicion. _If_ she's good at playing her role, that is" Hart shot her a hungry smirk, eying the girl too long for Ives's liking. He now was certain that he would rip the man's cock off and feed it to him before skinning him.

"Good. When will these...papers be finished?" he questioned.

"I can have the papers and a uniform in order by tomorrow. You have coin on you, yes?" Hart clasped his hands behind his back, daring to move closer towards Ives.

Ives remained where he was, expression stone cold as Hart halted before him. "Of course," he replied, eyes dark. "We will meet you in the little town beside Frazier Falls tomorrow at noon."

Hart nodded, extending a quivering hand, a bleary smile on his face. "Good, I will see you then, Colonel Ives."

Ives made no movement, his eyes only moving to scrutinize the hand being held towards him.

The man would kill himself.

Ives knew this because of the bleary hunger he displayed. Hart did not appreciate the immortality he had, he only appreciated the power.

Once he realized the life he was in for...he would surely beg for it to be ended.

Hart made a nervous harrumphing noise in the back of his throat, slowly drawing his hand back before tilting his head towards Belle, who had moved back to stand beside Francis once more. "Good day to you, Miss French," he shot what Belle assumed was meant to be a charming smile, but it only made the urge to kill him bubble up once more.

The man disappeared downstream and even though he was clearly gone, both Francis and Belle remained standing.

"You should've let me kill him," she spat, drawing back away from him, a disgusted grimace on her lips.

"And ruin my chance to find us a meal?" Ives retorted, eyes darkening once more as they had with Hart. "I understand you cared for that mutt, but it's dead. It doesn't give a single _fuck_ who toys with it now."

Belle's eyes widened at the sharpness in his tone, her lips trembling. "You're a vile man," she spat, shoving past him and stomping down into the cave.

Francis closed his eyes for a long moment, fists clenched together. Belle had the wit and tact of someone who had lived as long as himself, but in reality, she wasn't even a grown woman. He had been carelessly cruel to her, so much so that he could only assume he'd be sleeping alone that night.

He glared back towards the cave before breaking off in a run, taking long strides as he lunged across the running waters. He needed to breath in the musky pines, needed the mountain winds whipping into his face. It would sate his irritation and shortness to wear himself down. He ran through the lower forests, looking for any trace of Boyd and his dead companion. He could smell the man and he could smell that he was very much alive, but the bastard was no where to be found.

He withdrew back to the cave as darkness fell, his chest tightening as he saw Belle sleeping in the corner opposite to his pelts, curled up against the hard floor.

Ives frowned, quick to draw his pelts from the ground and swaddle the girl up the best he could, lifting her into his arms as slowly as he could, as not to rouse her from her sleep. She'd had quite the day and had acted just as he had instructed her to.

Despite his previous words, he was proud of her. She had faltered once before by stabbing him, perhaps, but now, he knew she was loyal. She would stay.

Ives moved her closer to the fire and drew back, peering into his pit to see that the smoke from the fire Belle had informed him of had settled. Everything left behind was most likely destroyed, his old uniform, Moe French's playing cards.

He spat into the pit, a grimace on his lips. _Rest in piss._

He lay on his side against the hard stone floor, giving a soft grunt as he settled himself down on the other side of the small fire..

He heard a light scuffling after a few moments and then a thump as his pelts were dropped beside him. He rolled over onto the thick bear pelt, surprised to see Belle's eyes open and alert in the dim firelight.

"I love you," she quietly uttered, her voice naught but a whisper.

He said nothing, only returning her stare with detached eyes.

"Do you love me?" she asked in a trembling voice, her lips quivering. He couldn't look upon her with such coldness any longer, not while she trembled so.

"Of course I do," he answered after a long while, closing the space between them as he drew her into his arms.

She was naked.

"Say it," she softly pleaded, clutching onto him.

"I love you," Francis Ives spoke, his words sincere as he stroked the girl's bare back, savoring the softness of her skin against his rough fingers.

Belle smiled, almost hazily. "Good," was all she murmured before pressing her lips to his, sliding them every which way along his with such sloppiness that Francis had to question her current state of mind. "I love you Francis, even if you make me angry sometimes," she mumbled against his mouth, her breath warm against his teeth.

His hands lazily slid down her waist, hands slipping to cup her buttocks. "Belle," he growled, eyes dark in the dim firelight. "I do _not_ like being at a disadvantage," he seethed, jerking his hands against her creamy skin to press her more snugly against his tented trousers.

Belle pulled back from his face, her tongue running along her dry lips as she slid away from him, wiggling herself down until he swore he could feel her little breaths against his clothed cock. "Belle," he spat in a warning tone as her fingers found the buttons on his trouser.

"Why don't you want me to see you down here? Touch you down here?" Belle questioned, undoing his trousers with her nimble fingers and drawing them down.

"I don't need you to waste your time down there," he replied in a huff, almost sounding like a pouting child.

"I want to," Belle insisted, sitting up as she shoved his pants past his feet and tossed them elsewhere. "It's interesting to me, you know. I want to know how it works."

"It's simple, really," Francis replied with a huff. "I stick my _fecking_ cock inside of you and move a bit," he growled, his accent slipping through.

Belle glared up at him, frowning as she tugged his briefs from his hips, eying his erect cock with interest. "It's quite...strange," she commented, prodding it with a finger.

Francis inhaled sharply from above, almost as if she'd shot him, his hands trembling as he moved to grab her petite wrist, "Belle, please," he pleaded between his teeth as they bit onto his fist to keep himself somewhat aware in his haze of arousal, shoulders heaving as his breathing grew harder and harder. The girl seemed to think it was harmless, touching him in such ways, but Francis knew how he had reacted before as a younger wendigo with the many whores and wenches he toyed with.

The ones that were bold enough to touch him ended up half slumped onto the floor from their beds, their pale little necks broken.

He didn't have the urge to place a single harming hand upon Belle, but Francis Ives knew a wendigo could not trust the beast inside. He savored her blunt touch, he yearned for more, but he couldn't.

Belle didn't pout, nor did she give an annoyed breath, but she crawled up towards him, gently nudging him onto his back. Her beaming face broke into view as he lay on his back, her eyes bright as she gazed down upon him, eyes full of adoration. "It's okay, Francis," she soothed, leaning down to press her lips to his forehead. "I won't, not until you ask me to," she drew herself back, eyes focusing his unruly hair as she attempted to smooth it back.

She wasn't expecting his hands to be quite so rough as he grasped her by the hips, flipping himself off of the ground and over her with such force that Belle felt breathless just watching him move in such ways, like an acrobatic cat.

"Why, Belle? Why do you treat me with such gentleness, such care?" he questioned, his eyes smouldering in the dimly lit cave. "Why do you treat me like I'm a man and not a murdering animal?" his fingers moved between them, Belle not quite sure what he was doing. His gaze was magnetizing and she found herself locking her own eyes to his, her breaths coming out in small puffs from the ferocity she saw behind those dark eyes, the wildness, the hunger, the need.

"Because I love you," was her soft reply, her hands moving to cup his cheeks. He always looked so angry, so strict. Belle wanted him to smile more, just like he had when they had talked during their journey.

"You can't love me after all I've done. You're an angel in comparison to myself and I find that I don't deserve you in the least," Ives spat, his tone sounding _hurt_ as it reached her ears.

"Stop," she quietly ordered, her mouth furling into a frown. She was angry and had a right to be, in her own opinion. Could they not be happy? Must they question such things? Belle was not an angel, nor was she perfect. She was tainted, just as he was. "Ives, I don't want anyone else, I just want you," her voice quivered as she finally broke his intense gaze, eyes tentatively looking off to the side. "I thought...you loved me."

He did not reply, but he did guide himself towards her enticing cunt, the soft head of his erection pressed to her damp entrance. He smirked, despite the situation. She was always sopping wet for him, his lamb. "Of course I love you," he replied with an amused snort. "Though I often wonder how you could love me," he slid into her with a swift jerk of his hips, causing the girl to give a soft cry of surprise, her body arching upwards.

"B-Because I do, Francis, and if you don't believe me, you can r-reflect on the past f-few days and- _oh_..." she gave a delicious little moan as he slid only a mere inch out of her before pistoning back into her. His thrusts were small, but hard as he moved himself in and out. He enjoyed it this way, as it gave him more time to feel the detail of her tight walls around his cock, the warmth providing him with something no flesh nor fire could give him.

"If I must reflect, I suppose it would only be right to do in your presence," he calmly spoke, even as he resumed his short little thrusts. Belle couldn't even answer, her face twisted with pleasure, soft little whimpers of delight tumbling from her parted lips. "I murdered your father, that went well," the comment was sarcastic, one that she didn't seem to hear in her little haze of pleasure. "Not to mention that I killed everyone else in this cave, save for you," he craned his body forward, his lower abdomen so tightly pressed to her mound of soft curls that it seemed to be having the same effect as his finger between her folds as she cried out, her frantic voice echoing off of the cave's walls.

"I then fed you flesh, which didn't bode well with you for that small while," he reflected with a smirk, moving one hand to brush her hair, damp with sweat, from her forehead. He drew out until only the tip of his erection remained inside of her, slamming himself back into the bliss between her legs with urgency. The loud mewl that followed from Belle's mouth made his entire body shudder, his eyes glazing over. "You're a faithful little pet, Belle," he stilled his movements completely, now enraptured with running a thumb down her cheek. "You truly are."

"And yet you..." Belle's voice was a few octaves higher due to the lack of air she had swallowed during the absolute bliss he had been previously shelling her with. "You deny that I love you when it's quite evident," her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were needy as she met his gaze, but he still saw the smooth coyness to her smirk.

"I suppose so," he shrugged and began to drill into her with such speed and power that Belle was completely caught off guard, her breath stuck in her throat.

"Ives!" she cried, clinging to him helplessly as he resumed doing that wonderful thing with his lower stomach against her loins, warmth spreading throughout her frail body.

He wrapped his arms around her back, drawing her upper half off from the ground as he resumed his assault, his lips moving to her neck. His kisses trailed down to her shoulder, where he bit into her delicate skin, her body racking with each thrust.

Belle was all but sobbing from the heightened sensitivity she felt as he rubbed his warm skin against her most delicate spots, her fingers buried into his shoulders and her jaw slack. Francis bit at her flesh, sucked at it, teased it. She wondered if he wanted to break the skin and taste her blood.

In the heat of the moment, Belle actually wished he would do so.

She vaguely recalled the sharp twinge of pain coming from his teeth as he toyed with her skin between his teeth, but it faded as they both reached their peaks, Belle coming undone first. Her voice desperately called his name to the cave surrounding them, words of love tumbling from her mouth after as he resumed his quick pace until her spasms subsided into soft twitches. He spilled inside of her with a heated snarl, hips still twitching into her, even after he was spent.

After a few moments of remaining where he was, listening to their mingled pants, Ives drew out of it. He watched as Belle moved to scoop up his seed as always, but stopped her, his hand firm on her arm. "Not tonight, pet," his voice was soft, his eyes warm as he looked her over.

He seemed affixed with stroking her hair, brushing her damp curls behind her back all whilst gazing into her eyes.

"Why not?" she quietly questioned, the heat radiating between their bodies enough to make her wish to go jumping into the cool creek outside.

"You deserve a good rest. Your day has been quite eventful, no?" his lips quirked into grin.

"I suppose it has, but why must I swallow it? I enjoy the taste, I...enjoy knowing it was put into me by you, but I don't understand," she murmured, the tiredness in her voice making her sound like a child, pouting over a toy.

"Virility. Being a wendigo gives me it, but if I feed you the source, it'll progress your...evolution as one," he no longer fumbled with her locks, but rolled onto his back, eyes open and staring into the darkness above them. "I'm feeding you strength, power."

Belle joined him, wanting to know _what_ exactly he saw in the shadows.

"You speak as if I'm to change into a hulking beast with claws and fangs," Belle smiled, giving a soft breath of mirth.

"I suppose I'm hairy enough to pass for one," Ives mused, eyes lit with amusement as he turned to glance towards her.

"Tomorrow I will trim that beastly beard before we leave, mind you," Belle informed with a coy smirk on her lips.

"Really, now? And if I refuse?" Ives challenged, rolling back onto his side eyes sweeping over her.

He preferred her this way, naked and shining with light perspiration.

He could look upon her and know that _he_ had driven her to making cries of pleasure until her throat was raw, that _he_ had worn her out so much that she only mumbled incoherently, scooting into his arms and nuzzling against his chest.

He smirked down at his lamb, pressing a long kiss to her temple before settling down, watching the girl drift into a comfortable slumber.

* * *

"Really, Francis, if you don't sit still I'll snip off your cheek!"

He winced, as the cool blade cut particularly close to his skin, slowly opening his eyes to watch Belle, tongue sticking out between her pursed lips and eyes squinting as she trimmed his beard, ever so determined to make him look as a proper colonel should.

She sat on his lap, legs tangled around his back. Both were stark naked, as they'd previously been swimming, fucking, eating, doing all of the things they wished to do before their little trek into town. She'd already trimmed his hair, slicking it back with water and giving a little breath of delight at the end results.

She gave the same noise of delight as she snipped once more and drew back, tilting his head this way and that to be sure her cutting had been precise.

He must've looked better, as the girl had caught his lips in a rather searing kiss after she had finished her trimming, fingers sliding through his hair.

He lifted her, watching her toss her sewing clippers away into the creek, fixing her attentions to his neck and peppering it with soft kisses.

The two had left at noon, Ives having the same mentality as a pouting boy when Belle had requested that he tie her corset for her. He much preferred her walking around without it, leaving him with nothing in the way of her breasts after her dress was off.

The girl looked beautiful. She had looked beautiful the entire time he'd known her, but seeing her properly dressed and smiling was a delight for Ives. She wore her father's hat atop her head, tilting it back as they progressed through the woods.

She avidly chattered away as they walked, eyes bright as they searched the trees before them. She was happy to leave the cave, happy to be moving to a place with a bed and some decent lighting.

Ives preferred the wilderness where the air was clean and the people were sparse. He supposed he would rid of most of the occupants in Fort Spencer, leaving him and his lamb to do as they wished, but the town, however, was something he did not look forward to.

They spotted it after a short walk across the plains, the small cluster of buildings bustling full of people, _men._ Ives drew Belle to his side, her arm heavy around her shoulders. "In this town you are my wife, you are not to explore nor wander, understand?" he questioned sternly, feeling as if he were speaking to his daughter rather than his little lover.

Belle nodded, absently gazing towards the town. "Yes, yes, act as if there's a chain around my neck, now could we go? _Please_?"

He gave a snort of laughter, lessening his grip on her as they entered the chaos.

Their first stop was the local general store, where Ives purchased a new hunting dagger and other items that would prove useful in the future. Belle was good to her word, acting as if she were his shy, blushing bride when the old shop keeper asked her a few questions.

"Now what are you two youngins doing in a town like this? Aren't there better places to settle down?" he questioned, his mustache wiggling as he spoke.

Belle gave a soft laugh, shaking her head as she waved a dismissive hand. "My husband and I are settlin' down in Fort Spencer. He's a army colonel, y'see."

 _There it is._ Ives had to shut his eyes for a moment to regain his composure, her little southern drawl that had been much too absent seeping back into her voice.

It was an odd thing, her accent, sometimes soft and light, but he had witnessed it drip into a heavy little lilt a few times when she was either frantic or coy.

Belle French was an innocent little lamb, but in this moment as she spoke to the shopkeeper, she was a cunning little wolf, batting her eyelashes and smiling at the elderly man across the counter.

For being such an adept little wife, Ives went along and purchased a surplus of books to keep Belle company during their stay at the fort, his wealth vast and unending from his years of scouring his prey and stealing their coin purses.

Belle practically bounced up and down at the purchase, her fingers stroking the hard covered books, acting as if she could absorb the information within the books with her touch.

The shopkeeper was smitten enough with her personality that he let her have two of the novels for no cost. Francis had nodded to the man as he ushered Belle out, her eyes gracious.

The shopkeeper probably had no clue how lucky he was to have been so kind, as Francis had decided against killing the old man in that moment.

They moved across the street to the seamstress, who was all too happy to whisk Belle away to the back as her partner dealt with Francis, measuring the girl with various rulers and tape. "Such a darling girl, we'll be sure to find you some lovely dresses for your husband!"

Belle had frowned as the woman bustled away, her eyes no longer full of false excitement, but irritation. _For my husband? Are these dresses not meant for **me** to wear? _She slowly removed her father's hat from atop her head, carefully placing it on the ground beside her.

The woman returned, arms full of various dresses and knickers for the girl to try on. As annoyed as she previously had been, Belle was quite pleased with the color scheme the woman had chosen, which ranged from a dark mossy green evening gown to a pale blue night gown.

The woman had provided her with an entire wardrobe, socks, shoes, knickers, everything. Belle was grateful to know she could retire her old gowns, which had been modified time and time again during her years alone at home. Her father never provided her with new dresses as Francis had, but had spent that money on his gambling during his visits to the tavern.

She stepped out with her purchases to see Francis standing in the center of the room, speaking with Colonel Hart and wearing the most attractive uniform Belle had ever lain her eyes upon.

It was the same uniform he had worn as he guided them to their destination, the navy blue suit adorned with golden buttons and epaulettes.

He smirked upon seeing her, pleased to note already wearing one of her new dresses, a dress that he was sure the seamstress had strategically chosen to match his dark blue uniform. He extended a hand to her, eyes soft as he took in the dress. It was a beautiful, form-fitting thing, one that enunciated the swell of her firm breasts and curve of her slender hips.

"My lady," he crooned in a low voice, bowing to her as she slid her fingers into his hand.

" _Colonel_ Ives," she replied, lifting her skirts with one hand as she dipped into a curtsey.

"This good man was just giving me my transfer papers," he nodded to Hart, who looked much too nervous to be in any sort of "good" condition.

"Indeed," she replied, avoiding Hart's prying eyes.

"We're to wait for our escorts until proceeding," he murmured to her as he handed the seamstress his paper money. "Then we can rest, you and I."

Belle only nodded as he steered her from the shops, taking her large bag and placing it on the wagon that would take them to the fort for her as they stepped onto the wooden walkway outdoors.

The girl turned to see that Hart had stuck behind, nervously fidgeting around the women that had provided her with her dresses and Ives with his new set of apparel, Belle's seamstress quite busy with counting the money Ives had handed her.

Belle had a sinking sensation in her chest, one of knowing.

"Ives," she softly protested, turning her body back towards the shop.

"Now, now, Belle, let's find us a nice shaded spot to sit, shall we?" he murmured, his grip on her shoulder tightening as he led her away.

Belle slowly shifted her gaze up to him, watching as he stared ahead with a content glint in his eyes.

More deaths would soon come, she realized. Many more.

Hart soon returned, handing Francis the money that he had previously handed to the seamstress. In that moment. Belle felt as if Hart was the devil, confirming that her suspicions would become reality very soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your continued support. I really can't express how much it means to me! :)


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Ives finally reach Fort Spencer, both feeling quite differently about seeing John Boyd again.

She couldn't accustom herself to the smells.

Just when she was analyzing one cologne, another smell would invade her nose, usually a strong whiff of manure or body odor.

She felt less like a cannibalistic girl and more like a dog with the enhancement of her hearing and smelling.

There had been so many different smells in town and many scents still invaded her nostrils, even now as she sat tucked under Francis's arm while he steered the horse tugging their wagon along.

Five men rode alongside them, one of them a general, called Slauson. Slauson was a short man with a voice that made Belle's skin crawl in an unpleasant manner.

She'd found a running similarity with the men Francis associated with, one that left her wondering if all men were like the ones that stumbled into them.

Each one not only left her feeling uncomfortable, but left her without any trust. The way they looked at her, the way they spoke to Francis. She hadn't trusted Hart, nor did she trust Slauson or any of his men.

These soldiers smelled of various things, of women, of tobacco and even of different men, which Belle found quite peculiar. They goaded their horses on through the slush that slowed their journey, their breaths coming out in puffs from the chill and their faces red from the biting frost.

Just when she had begun to believe that they had broken past the cold months, the snow had returned. The flakes had started the instant they had begun their quick journey and Ives had been insistent on retrieving Belle's new winter cloak for her before they departed. The moment she had seated herself beside Francis, he had loosened his hold on the reins attached to the bay gelding that led them on long enough to move his arm upwards, allowing Belle to melt against his side, head nestled against his chest. His body was warm and the way his voice vibrated through her chest and against her ear made her drowsy enough to fall into a content state of listening to his conversation with General Slauson.

The two spoke for a long while, Ives charming the man instantly with his tales of Scotland and of his time in the regiment.

Belle was further convinced that he must've served at some point in his life, as his knowledge was not that of a man who knew nothing of holding a gun or a sword.

Either that or Ives had killed enough soldiers to understand their way of life.

Their conversation resumed, Francis adeptly bewitching the general enough to influence the man into telling him more about the fort's current situation, to which the general mentioned a cave.

Belle stiffened immediately, her eyes straying up to Ives to see that he was completely calm, his jaw relaxed and his eyes lax.

When the two finally grew quiet and Slauson urged his horse into quickening its pace, Belle spoke up, peering upwards at Ives.

"The cave...did you-"

"Yes," Ives smoothly interrupted, keeping his gaze ahead. "Not a trace, pet," when he finally shifted to look down upon her wide eyes, his soothing gaze bore into hers, steering her anxieties away for the time being.

"You're a smart man, Francis Ives," she softly decided, rewarded with a kiss to the forehead. His lips were warm despite the frigid temperatures and she found that even after he shifted back to watching the men ahead of them, she could still feel that kiss against her skin.

She settled back down against him, listening to the methodical thumping of his heart until both the beat and warmth of Francis Ives lulled her to sleep.

After a short while, he gently jostled her awake, the girl raising her head with ruffled hair and bewildered eyes as she stared up at him. "What?" she croaked, the confused expression on her face and the state of her hair causing the man to give a soft snort.

"We're here, pet, Fort Spencer. The dingiest shit-hole the United States of America has ever lain eyes on."

Belle's brow furrowed in her drowsy state, a few incoherent words falling from her lips meant to reprimand him until she followed his gaze to see that he was actually quite right.

Fort Spencer was by far the dingiest little fort Belle had ever rested her eyes on. She'd never seen a fort before, of course, but she knew from her books that there were better equipped ones about, with cobblestone roads and brick walls.

The buildings within the fort were surrounded by a large wall of upright pine logs, pointed and most likely rotting from the constant snow. Their entourage paused outside of the gates, Ives hopping down and walking around their wagon to offer Belle his hand.

"M'dear," he murmured as she hopped down beside him, her hand clenching onto his as he led her towards the large doors leading into the fort.

"And our things?" she softly questioned, worried that the snow would find its way to her precious little library of books in her chest.

"We'll retrieve them later," he replied, nodding to the general and his right hand man, Lindus as they proceeded to lead the two inside the fort's walls after two men from the inside pushed the hulking doors open.

The inside of the fort wasn't much better than the outside. The small shacks that served as shelter looked worn and rickety, just like Belle's old house. Chickens ran about, clucking at their companions and Belle was disheartened to find a lack of dogs or cats. She had been hopeful, as soldiers seemed to enjoy the companionship of such pets.

She spotted the few remaining occupants of the fort, mainly relieved to spot another woman and two men. One extended his hand as she and Ives were led along to a building towards the back of the fort, introducing himself as Major Knox.

The man stared upon her for much longer than she would have liked, his mouth curling into a smirk. "And you must be the pretty little wife I've heard about," he stated, attempting to take her free hand. Belle assumed the man intended upon kissing it, but Ives would have no such thing as his hand shot out, quick as a rattlesnake's strike, and took Belle's wrist from his grip.

"If you'll excuse us, major, my wife is exhausted from travel and would like some warmth from the hearth," he informed, a charming little smirk on his lips.

Knox looked bewildered, but not suspicious. "Of course. That cold wind'll suck the life outta yer bones," the man replied. Ives and Belle followed Lindus into a small room that Belle supposed served as an office for the commanding officer of the fort, Belle noting that Slauson and another man she recognized as Boyd stood in the room.

Boyd.

She frowned lightly, trying to understand _how_ the man was still alive.

She'd asked Ives in the caves if he believed the man was still alive, to which her mate replied: _"If he was a real man, he had no fear to devour his companion, if they found one another, that is."_

Belle hadn't understood, but she now was suspicious as if to Ives somehow knew Reich's corpse could've been waiting for Boyd.

"Captain, this is Colonel Ives," said Slauson as Ives strode in, her wendigo looking like a proper man of uniform as he approached Boyd. "and his wife, Belle French."

Belle followed in behind, a faint smile on her lips as she saw Boyd. Part of her had hoped the man had died with his gallant jump from the cliff, as Ives seemed quite... _obsessed_ with finding him once more. She recalled waking during one of the many nights spent in Ives's arm, the man fidgeting and muttering in his sleep.

She remembered Boyd's name passing his lips.

The amount of jealousy Belle had felt in that moment had led to her giving a smothered little snarl, her fingers clawing into her arms and raking back and forth as she seethed. _Ives should be muttering my name! Not that stupid, meek man's name! What's so special about him? Me and Ives have been...Me 'n Ives have been...together for much longer and...'n...I do think he'd cherish me much more by now..._

Boyd himself looked absolutely terrible, his face pasty and his eyes sunken. She noted the various scrapes on his face, meaning that he must've been too weak to eat too much of whomevers flesh he had decided to knaw upon, her smile furling into a grin as she reflected on the fact that she had managed to down much more than him. _I'm the better wendigo, you stupid man. You may resume your quivering and know that I'm the stronger of us both. Woman or not._

She watched him as Francis neared him, the cheeky smirk on his face giving Belle the urge to break out into a fit of giggles.

Ives was playing the part of a soft-spoken but determined colonel, one that most likely would've been rewarded time and time again during his time on the field.

As he had informed her, Belle was his timid wife of a few mere months. They had met while he had been stationed in her town.

Belle thought it could've been the plot of one of the dime novel romances that some of the women in her Papa's parish sometimes gushed over.

The moment Ives extended had his hand towards Boyd, her rosary beads, which had been strategically looped onto his wrist by Belle herself during the wagon ride, slipped from his sleeve, the cross swaying below his wrist. Boyd would hopefully recognize them, as they always had hung from Belle's neck, even after the occurrences in the cave.

Boyd tilted his chin inward, looking as if he'd vomit on Francis's hand rather than shake it, the sight pleasing Belle immensely.

"Captain," Ives greeted, his voice no longer the quivering whimper of the timid Colqhoun , but a lilting, firm brogue "How's the leg?" he questioned, meeting the man's eyes.

Boyd looked up at him, eyes wide and breath hitching before he threw himself into the nearest wall, falling to the floor in a heap.

Belle gave a soft gasp, trying so very hard not to release a snicker at the man's theatrics. Belle knew her display of hysterics in the cave had been much more believable than Boyd's little tantrum."Is he all right?" she questioned Slauson with wide eyes, pretending to be concerned for the man when she would've much rather watched him twitch and cry like a young child.

Ives only retracted his hand, clenching both of them behind his back as he looked down upon Boyd with a look of shadowed mirth. He was enjoying this, watching the man on the floor shake like a beaten, feral, creature. It amused him so much that Belle feared he would've simply remained there had Lindus not suggested that they leave.

Lindus was quick to escort them both out, Ives's hand on the small of Belle's back, urging her forward. "What's wrong with him?" she asked aloud, feigning a look of uncertainty as her eyes found Lindus's firm expression.

"He left with the previous colonel to rescue a hostage with four other men..." Lindus replied, lowering his voice as the story was completely forbidden to be spoken aloud. "He returned alone, but claims that the man that led them to this cave was a... _cannibal_ of all things."

Belle exchanged a frown with Ives before turning back to the man, the three stopping to a halt as they reached the wagon that held their few possessions. "A cannibal? I thought that was restricted to the Carib tribes in the Lesser Antilles," she commented, noting the look of confusion on Lindus's face along with an impressed expression present on Ives's face. A sudden, blustering feeling of pride came forth in her chest as she realized she'd pleased Francis.

"Well I suppose your Carrot tribe spread their beliefs to us, hm?" Lindus shot a smirk before pointing to one of the soliders that had accompanied them, ordering the man to unload the wagon.

"Carib," Belle corrected under her breath as she moved towards the back of the wagon, uncerimoniously clambering up into the back and dragging her chest to the edge so that she could properly heave it into their new living quarters.

"Belle," spat Ives, causing the girl to jump as she looked behind her towards him in her bending state of posture.

"What?" she demanded, scowling. "I can unload my own chest, thank you very much," she seethed, straightening to leer down at him.

Ives snorted softly and without a second moment of hesitation, wrapped his arms around her hips and lifted her from the wagon. Belle gave an extremely unladylike shriek, her face reddening as she noted a few of the sparse fort occupants staring, including Boyd from the window of the small little office.

Belle wiggled in his arms, a bit tiffed as he loosened his grip, leaving her with no option but to slide down against his his front, her skirts sliding upwards as she did so. "Francis!" she spat, quickly planting her feet upon the ground to fix her skirts as he gripped onto her chest.

"Why is it," Ives lifted Belle's wooden chest full of books and dresses with ease, turning on a polished heel to stride towards the small shack providing him with an office of command and a cozy little bed for him and his lamb,"that you only call me Francis when you're scolding me?"

Belle lifted her skirts, quickly trudging after him into the building with a huff. "Why, you see, it's because-"

"Colonel Ives," both paused at Slauson's voice, Belle noting the way that Boyd staggered away from Ives, as if the man believed Francis would lash out at him. Boyd clutched his arms around himself, hunched over in a fashion that reminded Belle of an elderly man, vexed with various ailments that left him with creaky, aching bones.

"General?" replied Ives, his voice both friendly and ready.

"Would you...humor me a moment?" Slauson questioned, nearing the two of them. Belle noted the man from before, Knox, who seemed all to happy to see her once more. Belle shifted closer to Ives's side, slowly sliding her arms around his as she turned her gaze towards the general.

"Of course," Ives replied, all too happy to assist the man in his role as the ne'er do wrong colonel.

"Would you-" the older man certainly looked uncomfortable with his question, leading Belle to the conclusion that whatever was about to be asked of her wendigo would only drive her to despise Boyd all the more with his stumbling and meekness. "Would you...take off your shirt please and show me your shoulder?"

Belle's mouth dropped open, anger flashing through her so heavily that she felt almost _too_ warm in her winter cloak, which still rested upon her shoulders.

"What?!" she spat, eyes darkening towards the man. "That is outrageous to ask!" she abandoned all recollection of being told to be a softspoken little wife, her scrutinizing glare moving to Boyd, who visibly flinched.

She had spoken aloud, and yet every man in the room acted as if she were nothing but a mouse scuffling past.

"Please, colonel," the general gave a nervous chuckle.

Ives stiffened at her side, eyes looking between the men with a look that translated to surprised irritation.

"Well, I ahm..." Ives placed her chest to the side, shooting her a look that read as: "Settle," to Belle.

_Why am I the one told to settle? Why should I when this is both inappropriate and...foolish!_ Belle glowered with ire, her glare directed between each man in the room, including Ives.

"My last physical examination was, ah not too long ago-" he spoke as he unbuckled the leather belt around his waist, followed by the red sash beneath it. "Surely Major Knox has no desire to hear me...cough," he curtly nodded to the man with a wry smirk as he handed off his belt and sash.

Belle made an irritated noise that came out as a squeak, her mouth twitching. " _I_ would know if he'd been shot," she announced to the room, finally catching the gazes of all men. She'd seen him naked enough as it was and had no hesitation to inform the entire room of it. In fact, she wanted Boyd to know. _If he could hold wounds, he would be covered with the scratches of my nails and the marks of my teeth._

She gave a huff, causing Francis to pause from unbuttoning his jacket long enough to shoot her a reassuring smirk. "Ease down, pet," he soothed, turning his gaze upon Boyd, his eyes full of a mirth that only Belle understood.

How silly would Boyd look once Francis removed his clothing and bared his shoulder, untouched by any bullet? The wound had healed after only a few hours, the only trace of it being the small patch of blood on Ives's blouse. As irksome as her Francis was being, she couldn't help but be prided by knowing how strong he was and how quickly he healed.

The following silence in the room was one that left Belle feeling uncomfortable, the only noise being Francis's breaths and the ruffling of his coat as he finally shifted it off and allowed Lindus to tug it from his arms.

With a swift jerk, he undid the handsome ribbon tied around his neck, handing it off to Belle, who wrapped it around her hands to keep them occupied, lest she decided to strange Boyd and end his irritating accusations right there, true or not.

He undid three of the buttons on his blouse, finally shifting it to the side to bare his right shoulder to the room.

Belle didn't like it. She didn't care if any of these men had wives or whores to warm their beds, but Francis's shoulder was something reserved for _her._ She felt foolish for feeling territorial, but if Francis could be so thwarting towards other men that neared her, she could do the same with men that approached him.

"The other shoulder please, Colonel," requested Slauson. Ives paused, his head lightly bobbing with cold amusement and disbelief before he complied, baring his left shoulder to the room.

In that moment, Belle wanted nothing more than to bite into his shoulder. She'd been without him for nearly more than half a day and she wasn't accustomed to not being assaulted with kisses from him, nor was she used to not giving them to him. She wanted to grind his skin between her teeth, letting him _feel_ just how cross she felt with him. At the same time, she'd been content, therefore kisses would be in order after the biting, she supposed.

"Thank you, colonel."

Belle watched with keen interest as Boyd stood, heaving shuddering breaths as he stared with watery eyes at Ives.

"Not at all," replied Ives, eyes stuck on Boyd with such intensity, that Belle's previous inclination to strangle the man reappeared instantly. "Is there a problem?" Ives questioned, buttoning his shirt back up, eyes glued to Boyd.

"Not with you," the general replied disdainfully, as if he knew that Boyd would resume to cause them nothing but trouble.

"I should hope not," Belle added spitefully, taking Ives's coat from Lindus, guiding his arms back into the coat and stepping in front of him, breaking his line of sight with Boyd as she re-buttoned the heavy jacket.

Slauson and Lindus left them, claiming they wished to beat the oncoming storm to return to town, which Belle was relieved of, happy to have Boyd with less protection.

"Shall we retire to _our_ room before supper?" Belle questioned, cocking her head.

Ives finally looked at her without that cold, predatory, glimmer in his eyes, his hands moving to her shoulder. "Yes, of course," he replied, steering her around him and towards the room serving as their bedroom before shooting Boyd one final smirk of satisfaction.

Their room was a quaint little thing, a deer pelt on the rug, a cabinet, wardrobe, sitting table and a bear pelt on the bed.

_A bed._

Belle immediately flopped onto the mattress, her back screaming with relief. She closed her eyes, a smile on her face as she wiggled against the covers.

She hardly had time to give a peep before Francis was down upon her, his clothed body pressed flush against hers, mouth mashed against hers.

"Francis," she managed to jerk her head away, breaths coming out in pants as she eyed him, confused by the sudden need in his eyes.

"You're upset," he rumbled softly, his lips moving to her neck, planting soft, suckling kisses along her skin.

"Of _course_ I am," she replied, nose wrinkling. "They demand such things of you and cast me aside when I attempt to defend you," she hissed, trying to draw his head away from her neck. His kisses always blurred her thoughts, made her mind foggy and in this moment, she couldn't have that. "And _Boyd,_ " she frowned, backing towards the other side of the bed, eyes wide. "You're obsessed," she quietly stated, eyes stuck onto her buckled shoes.

"Obsessed?" his voice rose a bit, eyes no longer needy, but accusing.

"Yes!" she replied, voice rising with his. "You stare at him like you wish to...to...kiss him!"

His mouth twitched, mustache twitching with it before he brushed of the front of his jacket, as if trying to brush the memory of her off of him.

"I'm going to walk the perimeter," he gruffly announced, giving her no time to reply before exiting.

Belle fell onto her side against the mattress, her body reflexively curling up into a fetal position. She maintained a cool demeanor for only a few mere seconds before she broke out into bitter sobs. Her heart clenched painfully, and yet with each sob, she felt _better_ , as if a weight was leaving her. She remained still after the sobs dissipated into soft sniffles, her mind finding no hope, no matter how much it searched.

She feared Francis would take it upon him to choose between her and Boyd.

A wife or a companion.  
 _But what sort of companion does he want in the man..?  
_

* * *

Dinner was an occasion that Belle never wished to think upon again, as the occurrences that followed were not happy nor fond.

The mess hall was a cozy little room and yet the minor war of stares between Ives and Boyd left Belle with a strong urge to grab onto the nearest spreading knife.

What she would do with the dull knife, she was still pondering upon.

_I could saw 'till...until he finally bled out...or perhaps I could stab him...Stabbing seems much more stress-relieving, I suppose._

Even as Ives smoked a cigar that Knox had kindly shared, he stared at the man, dark eyes fixated on Boyd's dull blue eyes.

Belle stared at the empty table before her with gritted teeth, trying her best not to leave that very moment, skirts bustling and eyes scornful.

She cleared her throat once, hoping to draw Francis's attention away from the younger man, but neither looked at her.

Instead, Knox heard and decided to take it upon his shoulders to start conversation.

"You're not an eater of _riibs_ Colonel Ives?" All the while, Knox had been sitting across from Belle, contently smoking his own cigar.

She listened, watching the man who had been introduced as Private Cleaves. The sluggish man took the used plates from the long wooden table, keeping his eyes down as he did so.

"No, no, major, I ah, can never forget it used to be an animal," Ives replied, so genuine with his words that Belle almost scoffed.

_You certainly don't mind that the flesh we eat was once human._

"Sen-i-menal fella'. Same for your little wife too?" Knox questioned in his lazy drawl, eying Belle. "She certainly could use some more meat on 'er."

"I'm fine," she quietly replied, mustering a reassuring smile towards the man. "I'm a very picky eater, is all," her smile only grew as her tone grew sweeter.

_That_ made Francis look at her, though his eyes were almost scolding.

_How does it feel, Francis Ives? How does it feel to watch your partner obsess and play coy?_ _  
_

The next words seemed to be punishment for her smile, as Ives's voice had risen considerably.

"What about you Captain Boyd? You don't eat meat? _"_ he took a drag from his cigar, eyes having abandoned Belle for _Boyd_ once more.

"Only as a last resort," piped Boyd, finally speaking coherently rather than whimpering and rambling.

Belle saw a strength in the man's eyes and realized that Ives must've chased him so for this reason. He wasn't afraid, not any longer, at least.

"That's a pity," Ives replied, his voice softer now.

The words had actually stung, striking Belle so hard that she felt the urge to burst into tears right there.

They had moved into a sitting room, the Indian woman named Martha, Cleaves, Knox, Boyd, Ives and herself.

She had ended up sitting side ways on Ives lap as he read, despite her attempt to stay as far as she could from him. His arm had snaked around her waist as she'd passed by him, tugging her onto his lean legs without giving her any option.

He read, thoughtfully twisting at his mustache.

If dinner had gone differently, Belle would've been happy to snuggle up to the man, skimming the pages with him.

Though the tenseness and hostility in the air emanating from Boyd was so thick that she felt she needed to be sitting up and alert.

Francis Ives had hurt her in the past few hours, yes, but that didn't mean she wouldn't defend him with her life if she needed.

She loved him, after all. Foolhardy or not.

She watched Knox and Cleaves play chess for a short while, interested in Knox's never ending grumbles and mutters to himself. Her attention shifted to Martha, afterwards, who had been the sister of the Indian that Hart had stolen from their cave. She was shaving a narrow stick and Belle was interested by that for a short while, wondering if she was intending upon making a few arrows.

Though no matter how hard she tried, she kept falling back to watching Boyd. The man stared at Francis, as if waiting for horns to spring from his head.

And yet they never did.

Instead, Francis abruptly snapped his book shut.

Boyd lunged upwards and towards Boyd, Belle quick to push herself to her feet and move towards him, teeth bared.

Martha had her short dagger at his neck in mere seconds, just as Knox and Cleaves had moved towards him to hold him back.

"Well, well, it appears a number of us could use some rest," was all Ives stated before abandoning Belle to face the four.

"You seem to take my husband for someone he is not," she coolly directed to Boyd, her gaze haughty. "You live in the past, in your nightmares. The only way you'll stop looking so miserable is if you leave those behind."

She exited, feeling aloft and dignified as she strode towards her and Francis's room.

Her shoulders fell as she found herself alone.

She waited for a quarter of an hour, peering out the window like the faithful little pet she was, pondering when her master would finally return.

And yet he hadn't.

She frowned, lighting the kerosine lamps above their bed and settling down with one of her new books, _Candide._

Belle was intrigued enough to lose herself in the text, her mind taking her into Voltaire's dingy, scandalous tale, so absorbed that she jumped as the door opened.

Ives entered, looking ruffled and smug.

She noted the bandage around his hand and crawled to the bed's edge as he neared her, hands whipping out and latching onto his wrist. "Francis, what happened?" she demanded, worriedly, examining his wrapped hand.

"John Boyd decided to get cheeky," he replied, ripping the bandage free from his hand and tossing it to the ground.

The cut must've been deep, as it was still healing, a tiny sliver of red still bared to Belle.

She should've scolded him or perhaps even gotten emotional at the thought of him being slashed, and yet the smell of his blood was much too strong for her to resist.

She swooped down upon his palm, mouth latching onto his palm and teeth sinking into his tender wound, ravaging the healing flesh.

He gave a whimpering groan, wavering from side to side on his feet as she hungrily lapped at the sparse amount of blood that surfaced. His other hand came to rest upon the back of her head, methodically stroking her soft tresses.

Belle tilted in against him as the pungent taste of antiseptics finally faded, replaced by the coppery taste of _him._ His knuckles were pressed to his stomach, her forehead against his chest as she resumed to take in his sweet, tangy taste, the two both making delighted little noises.

He finally took it upon himself to remove her teeth from his hand, baring his teeth down at her in a territorial snarl before pressing his mouth to hers, his deft tongue cleaning her face of the blood smeared upon it.

She realized how very skilled he was in that moment, as Francis was able to both kiss and nip at her lips and remove his coat at the same time, his trousers following the coat soon after it was thrown aside.

He finally was forced to draw back as he came to his blouse, quickly speeding down through his buttons, briefs, discarded and kicked to a dark corner of the room.

She stood as he did this, shimmying out of her dress and giving an easy grin as he assaulted her corset with nimble fingers, freeing her breasts from compression in mere moments.

He made a show of ridding of her knickers, planting soft kisses along her collarbone and trailing down towards her breasts. He'd never spent much time on them before, and Belle was beyond pleased as he spent a fair amount of time teasing at her nipples, bringing them to hard nubs and attempting to press them back down with his tongue.

The kisses eventually trailed down to her abdomen, teeth clenching around her knickers and drawing them down to her ankles.

She craned down, ridding of them before standing with him, the two staring at each other, breathless and warm.

He looked ready to have her then and spare the foreplay, Belle realized, his eyes darkened and his jaw set.

And yet she wanted to have _him._ She wanted to break past the wall that kept him from her, _all_ of him from her.

"Francis," she softly began, looking towards him with pleading eyes.

He moved in on her, the heat of his body pressed flush to hers making her skin tingle. His head swooped down to her neck, teething and sucking at her pale skin.

He was jealous, Belle noted. He was jealous of all of the men around her in this fort that could look upon her.

Did he realize she was jealous after her comment about Boyd?

Back at the cave, they were safe from such things, but now...he wanted to mark her as his as she wanted to mark him as hers.

He nipped and tugged at her neck, toying with her flesh, sure to observe the dark red marks he left behind before they faded.

"Mr. Ives," she weakly attempted to squeak, his hands moving to grip her shoulders, steering her towards the closest wall.

She gave a sigh, knowing that she certainly _could_ grasp his attention with the proper...pull.

Her hand fell between them, brushing lightly against the parts he tried so desperately to hide from her.

His member felt strangely normal to her fingers, as normal as brushing her fingers against his arm would be, but the moment was short-lived, as Francis had jerked her away once again, holding her back from him as if he expected her to lunge.

His eyes were alert now, almost feral as they scrutinized her.

"Please," her voice sounded so very small in that moment. "Let me have you, Francis. I won't hurt you and you won't hurt me. I trust you, I _love_ you. Do lovers not share themselves to one another?" the words seemed to pour from her mouth, a desperate rambling.

"Belle," he hissed between clenched teeth. "You don't understand. I don't trust the beast inside and I could easily-"

" _I_ trust you," Belle insisted, eyes wide. "Please, show me how. If you show me, perhaps it will be easier?" her expression was hopeful, and yet it was uncertain at the same time, enough to cause Francis's shoulders to fall in defeat.

He couldn't help but feel his own uncertainty pass as Belle flashed a defiant smile, sinking to her knees and looking upon his cock with almost a morbid sort of fascination.

The sight of her on her knees alone sent a surge of heat through his cock, causing it to twitch ever so slightly before her eyes. The way the girl gaped in reply would've made him chuckle, had he not been too busy smothering a groan.

Her fingers were delicate as they finally stroked against his shaft, his head, his balls, delicate and probing.

"It feels so normal," she breathed, tilting her head as she stroked it, peering upwards to catch Ives with his eyes shut and lips parted, a blissful breath being dispelled from him.

She smiled to herself, pleased to know she had done something right for him, even if it was as simple as stroking him. She gripped his odd member, quite liking the hardness of his erection.

She moved her hand as she'd spied Ives doing the night after he had decided to keep her, the moan he uttered sounding almost helpless.

She kept doing the same thing, over and over and Ives knew he wouldn't last long at all, and yet he wanted her to learn.

He gently removed her grip, his eyes locking onto her soft lips, need rising in his chest. "Belle," he weakly muttered, swallowing hard. "Open," was his simple command, nodding to her.

Belle frowned, hesitance flashing across her face. "Are you sure..." her voice quivered.

"Don't fret," he softly soothed, his hand moving to stroke her head. "I won't harm you, Belle."

She opened her mouth, eyes blankly locked onto his erection.

He nearly spilled himself there from the sight, but he needed only one measure more. "Look at me, Belle, please."

Her mouth snapped shut and he was quite glad he had refrained from pushing past her lips, confusion following his relief.

"I'm no dog, Francis Ives," Belle hissed, pushing back from him, a scowl on her lips.

She'd been so compliant before in the caves, but now her defiance seemed only natural.

She'd been brash towards other in her ways, but never to Francis, not so often. The man stood, confused and needy as she glared.

It only seemed natural for him to lurch over and grasp her around the waist with his arms, hauling her to her feet and tossing her onto their plush mattress.

"Better than fucking on stone, hm?" he mused, watching Belle scramble to her hands and knees, about to attempt to throw herself from the bed and away from him.

He sneered, hands clasping her hips, his palms against her buttocks. "Not so fast," he tutted, drawing her closer to him.

"You'll repeat this again?" she questioned, craning her neck to stare back at him with darkened eyes.

"Yes I shall. Pleasure is your own option," he shoved a finger past her folds, pushing into her warmth. He took no time to wait, pushing two more digits into her and languidly wiggling them against her walls, pleased to see the girl toss her head down and writhe.

He removed his fingers, waiting for her gaze to find his before slipping his slick fingers into his mouth, taking his time as he flicked her musty dampness from his fingers with his tongue.

She gave a heated little whine at that, her hips jutting upwards and her upper half slinking down. Belle's cheek was pressed to the mattress, her eyes clenched shut as she awaited him. "Please," she spoke, her voice muffled from her lips being partly mashed against the feather filled mattress.

"Please what?" he crooned, eyes glittering with amusement.

"Inside!" she impatiently replied, her tone scolding.

"With pleasure," he guided himself into her, giving a murmur of appreciation at the tightness that met his intruding cock. How she remained so tight baffled him, and yet he knew he'd never actually loved the woman he fucked, not until Belle.

His thrusts were twitchy and erratic and he was pleased to see Belle's arm stretched below her, rubbing and kneading between her folds as she'd observed him do.

Belle was no fool and after observing, she _knew_ how pleasure could be found.

And yet she was not pleased.

"Around, please," she managed between gritted teeth. She wanted the closeness of him above her, not the cold despondency of him behind her.

They easily shifted and he wasted no time setting back to his quick pace, dipping himself down so his abdomen brushed against her heated mound.

Her fingers shredded at his back, her teeth sunk into his shoulder as she felt her body quiver into bliss, her pleasure heightened with each brush of his skin against her. It was subdued, yes, as he couldn't have such direct contact with the bud between her legs, but she was pleased nonetheless as he spilled himself into her, the look on his face one of relief and ease.

"I love you," she breathed as he melted into her arms, gently tugging out of her.

"And I love you," he replied, pressing a kiss into her damp curls as their slick bodies melded against one another.

She lost any previous anger in that moment as he held her, their bodies latched to each other in every way, legs twisted around one another, arms tangled and fingers twined.

She was content to know that he would return to her each night in the end, no matter how much attention he dealt to Boyd.

She was just as content the next morning, lying face down, the bear pelt covering her backside, the cool air feeling nice against her back in comparison to the heavy pelt covering her arse.

She heard the door open and lazily lifted her head, a grin stretched upon her face as her eyes remained shut. She brought her elbows up against the mattress, head kept up by her palms and breasts exposed to the cold. Her "Ives," she all but purred, finally cracking an eye open.

Belle immediately threw herself back from the bed, tumbling naked to the floor. She threw her arms about herself, attempting to hide her nakedness.

The blue eyed man only watched in stupor at the naked nymph of a girl, backing away from the door, hands raised. "I didn't mean to, he asked me-"

" _GET OUT!_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry for the wait, I was stuck in a bit of a writing ditch, but I am absolutely excited for the next chapter!


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A decision is made.

"Get. Out."

This time, she did not scream, nor she did not fall backwards again in an urgent attempt to cover herself from John Boyd's wide blue eyes.

Instead, Belle stood, her shoulders straight and her breasts pert.

The man did nothing but stare, his back pressed to the nearest wall. His gaze was alarmed, his body posture making him look frail and very inclined to leave as the girl stood there, demurely gazing at him in her state of undress.

He did absolutely nothing but stare and making Belle want nothing more than to kill him then and there. All she needed to do was choke the man until his last breath left him, perhaps she could've even found an object sharp enough to impale him with. The sooner the man was out of her and her lover's life, the better. She'd be doing all of them a favor, as Boyd was getting desperate, trapped.

Ridding of Boyd now would be the best choice for the girl to make, as the fidgety captain knew his end was coming and soon enough, he'd become cunning, just like a fox in a trap that gnawed off his own paw to escape with his life.

Boyd's hands were stretched out before him and open as he pleaded, his voice quivering, "I-I didn't intentionally-"

"Shut up," her sharp words silenced him. After catching his eyes betray him as they darted to her breasts and then to the patch of coarse brown curls between her legs, what remained of her patience was gone. Belle lifted her chin, eyes hooded as they watched the man tremble under her gaze, "You said 'he' asked you to come here. Who is 'he'?" she demanded, her teeth clenched.

"Ives, sent me," came his breathless reply. Belle searched Boyd's eyes for any sort of hesitance or indication of a lie, but it appeared that the skittish man was telling the truth. She could feel it in her gut, in her heart, in her mind. The man wasn't lying. Francis _had_ sent Boyd here.

The man she loved had _allowed_ this man, John Boyd, to enter their little nest while she was vulnerable and indecent.

Her stomach clenched at the realization, bile rising in her throat as the betrayal washed in through each fiber of her being, the sickening churning making the girl want to run and keep running until she found a place of complete solitude to hide away at. She needed the silence, the peace.

She only wanted to think, to tear apart the past few weeks in her mind and determine the best way to resume her life.

She no longer felt a pang of knowing, but a pang of agony as it twisted from the realization. Belle felt bile rising in her throat, the realization of betrayal flooding through each and every fiber of her being like a wildfire.

Belle wanted nothing more than to run from Boyd and keep running, from the fort, from the country, from it all. If she couldn't find the privacy and time she needed within Fort Spencer, she could find it on her own.

Ives would always find her, she knew. He had claimed her, marked her. She was his. His pet. His mate. His lamb.

There was no easy way of running from a man that could so easily defy death and time.

She exhaled through her nose in a snort, eyes boring into John's, "And _why_ , pray tell, would he send you here?" she interrogated, her tone strong for a girl that felt as if she were about to double over from the nausea that had accompanied her sudden train of dismal thoughts.

"He made like he'd..." Boyd seemed hesitant to finish the sentence, but after Belle's nose gave an irritated twitch, he resumed, "as if he'd harmed you, Miss French."

"And how does that involve you? As far as you were concerned, I was the mistress of the devil," she pointed out, craning down to snatch the blanket she had previously used to cover herself with, wrapping it about her waist and over her breasts. She wasn't afraid to stare the man down in her state of nudity, but the frigid weather had seeped in with him as he'd opened the door. The girl already could feel goosebumps raising on her exposed arms and legs, her body trembling from the chill.

Whether it truly was the cold or the rapid spread of anger replacing her previous shock, she wasn't quite sure.

Boyd seemed taken aback by her sharp words, drawing his shoulders in, his back hunching even further, "Because you're a young lady, a young lady who was... _bewitched_ by that man, just like he bewitched us into believing he was a man of God!" he spat **the words out, as though they were poison on his tongue. He** jabbed his finger towards the door as he spoke, as if he was pointing directly at Ives that very moment. "If he wanted me to believe you were dead, then you of all people know what comes next. He _._ Will. Kill. You. Next," the man insisted, enunciating each word.

Belle scoffed, shaking her head. Why yes, she was quite angry with Francis Ives, but would she let this man have the satisfaction of knowing that she felt betrayal and anger towards the man? "You aren't at the liberty to make that claim, Johnathan," she spat, tone cold as the air that had followed the man into the room as he opened the door. Belle felt very much like the colonel in that moment, eying the man like he was food, her prey to toy with before killing him. "I think _I_ of all would know his intentions. Perhaps he told me of this beforehand and instructed me to rip your throat into scraps with my teeth after he convinced you I was in need of rescue, hm?"

The look of sudden astonishment on John Boyd's face made her giggle aloud, a giggle that seemed so foreign to hear coming from her own mouth that she nearly thought someone else had entered the room. Belle pushed these thoughts away to resume basking in the expression upon the captains face. The look of grave alarm written all across his face was all too good to _not_ savor. He truly feared her, nearly as much as he feared Ives.

" **Nevermind. I would rather you just leave, as I'd asked you to do several minutes ago. So** I'll repeat myself now, _Captain_ John Boyd," she murmured, her soft drawl making his name sound sickeningly sweet coming off of her tongue. "Get. Out."

And he did.

John Boyd nearly tripped over himself as he bolted from the room, hobbling not back out the door he entered from, but towards the other door that lead to Francis's study.

She immediately threw the blanket from her, livid tears spilling down her cheeks as she found the nearest breakable object, a glass ashtray that Ives had purchased at the store, and hurled it with all her might at the adjacent wall.

The small crash only caused her sobs to grow in volume and in heaviness, her fist slamming against her temple in frustration.

Belle sank to the floor, her fingers threaded through her hair, palms tight against her temples. The sobs never ceased nor did they lessen, her howls and cries making her throat ache. She tugged at her hair and grit her teeth until they ached, rocking back and forth, trying to halt her emotions.

She loved Ives.

Ives had betrayed her trust.

**Some would look upon her and think that she was overreacting** , but to Belle, love was something that went beyond any other human emotion or right.

Her body was for Ives to see, and for his eyes to see alone.

Had the man not been protective to cover her from Hart, even when she had a thin dress covering herself?

Belle decided that the only thing that would satisfy her more than screaming and shouting at Francis would be the eminent death of John Boyd. She'd strangle him, perhaps, or even slit his throat. Whatever she did choose, she would be sure to make it as slow and treacherous as humanly possible.

She'd throw him to the ground and straddle his chest, naked to spite Ives, and perch there, showing Boyd what he'd never touch. She'd slit his throat with the bluntest knife she could find and give no second thought to it, even as his blood rained out and splattered across her breasts and face.

She'd then leave the man to die and locate Francis, naked and bloody. Maybe she'd cut him, maybe she'd fuck him, but she wouldn't allow him to have any pleasure from any of it, just as he had forbidden her pleasure various times before.

Just as she had grabbed a dress to wear to subdue any suspicion from the few remaining fort occupants while she looked to locate a proper knife, the door opened. Belle froze and slowly turned on the heel of her foot, assuming that Boyd had returned to shoot some more accusations at her.

Instead, she saw Ives, looking disheveled and feral. "About time you woke," he commented, briskly striding towards her and ripping the dress from her fingers in one firm jerk.

"What are you doing?" she snapped as he tossed her dress aside to the floor, no longer the whimpering little girl he'd left cowering in the cave, but an hesitant image of bravery.

"Colonel Hart is dead," he spat between gritted teeth, his mouth twitching and his eyes dark.

"Colonel Hart was _here_?" Belle questioned, blinking rapidly. As far as she knew, Hart was meant to remain hidden in the loft above the stables, tenaciously leaving his little lair to kill off the few that remained alive within the fort.

"If you hadn't been so damned insistent on sleeping through the day, you'd know that the rest of the occupants in this very fort, save for the stupid Indian, are dead," he stood inches before her, his breaths harsh against her face, nostrils flaring with irritation.

He was terrifying. He was terrifying, but Belle found that she cared very little. She remained where she was, shoulders relaxed and mouth set in a firm line.

"Why did you send Boyd here?" she finally questioned in an even tone, her voice so calm that it caused the Wendigo before her to wince. "Why would you send him here when you _knew_ I was in a state of undress. Why would you let another man look upon me like this? Don't you even _care_ that I am yours?"

"Boyd is one of us now, Belle," he replied, expression grim. "Or rather, _was_ , after his little incident with Hart. If he was to be with us, he was to know the rules. That he may look at you, want you, but never _have_ you."

It made absolutely no sense to the girl. How was he sending Boyd a message by allowing him to look at her and want her all the more when he wasn't allowed to have her? The man was oh-so proud of himself for his words too, his mouth twitching into a confident grin and chest puffing.

Belle nearly smiled at how pathetic it all was. "You are impossible," she spat with a disgusted scrunch of her nose, backing away from him until her back bumped against the large bureau beside their bed. "You're sick, Francis Ives. Y-You say he can't have me, but how would you know he..."

Her expression went lax for a moment, followed by a look of complete, cruel mirth. "How would you know he hasn't had me already?" she nearly purred. "How do you know he didn't _fuck_ me right here upon our bed after entering and seeing me like this?"

She nearly had to question if she was dreaming after the response to her demure query, as the action Ives chose to express his immediate fury rattled her heart with a hollow coldness.

The man had slapped her, a blow across the face that stung beyond something she would believe possible for a Wendigo such as herself to feel.

Her reaction was not to throw herself at him like she wanted to and strangle him, but instead, she uttered a sudden sob.

Tears poured down her previously moistened face and her chest heaved, a frustrated scream passing her lips as she returned the favor, her hand clawed as it slammed against his face. Four thin lines of blood remaining on his cheek after her blow, Francis looking shocked. "You're a bastard!" she cried, slapping him once more. "Do you even love me? Or did you simply say those words to make me want you to put yourself between my legs? You've never paid me any mind as long as we've been here! You've been obsessed with John Boyd, obsessed!" with each outcry, she slapped him again, his expression falling into an unreadable glower and his shoulders stiffening.

"I don't even know-"

He didn't allow her to resume, Belle silencing as he slammed an arm around her waist, tossing her over his shoulder with little difficulty.

"Put me down, Francis, _now_!" she immediately screamed in response, slamming her fists against his shoulder in a flurry of pelts, none of which even caused him to give a single wince.

He didn't seem to hear her command, as he simply turned, throwing her onto the bed and giving her no time to escape before his open hands crushed down against her thighs, pinning her to the bed.

"Fucked Boyd, eh?" his voice was a growl, his eyes flickering with nothing but a foreign, glassy look to them. "We'll have to check, won't we?" he bobbed his head, smirking self satisfaction of his own idea. Without warning, his hands dug into her thighs and drug her buttocks to the edge of the bed in one, swift, jerk,

She was no longer screaming for him to cease his actions, but now pleading, back to her pathetic state of a whimpering child, "Francis, please, I didn't I was only-"

"Ah, ah, ah, pet," he interjected, dropping his head down between her legs and making a blatant show of inhaling the scent of her musk, eyelids fluttering. "If you thrash or lay one more fist upon me, I _will_ bite," he warned in a snarl, giving her no time to plead before he burrowed himself between her folds, mouth open and teeth bared.

He _nuzzled_ her loins, surely to leave his own blood there from the wound she'd left him with earlier. She could feel the points of his teeth dragging across her sensitive flesh, his tongue flat against the entrance of her sex and tenaciously dragging back and forth.

He was humiliating her, _shaming_ her, and she had no choice but to allow him to do so.

"The lamb is becoming a lioness," he murmured, voice muffled as he drew back, inhaling her scent once more. "That will not do, Belle. It simply won't do."

Without warning, attacked her womanhood with a barrage of laps from his tongue, Belle managing to keep herself silent and expressionless as he did, but losing all resolve as stiffened his tongue and slid it along the button of nerves above her entrance, the girl releasing a heavy, shuddering breath.

He hummed in approval at his small victory, the vibrations against her _cunt_ (as he had called it) rattling her to the core.

"Ives, please," she whimpered, the tears she had shed before never ending, not even now. "Please, stop," she clenched her eyes shut as he closed his mouth around the sensitive bud, lightly teething it and causing her to cry out from the influx of sensations. It was no longer pleasurable, but nearly _too_ much for her to take in at once, the urge to buck against his teeth so much that her hips were already twitching. And yet she knew if she did, he was likely to harm her.

_Harm_ her.

A warning signal went off in her brain, one that made the tears come even harder, sobs following. He was no longer the Francis Ives that had been so very sweet to her as he broke into her womb, that restrained himself from slamming himself into her until she'd requested it.

He now simply did not _care_.

If he had wanted to taste Boyd on her, he clearly had been taking his time, as he resumed his tortuous teething for a long while before finally pressing his face against her sex, tortuously sliding his tongue into her core.

She gave a tiny whimper as he scoured her walls, slowly and carefully surveying as much as he could reach, tasting every single bit he could reach.

He drew back after along while of sliding his tongue along the caverns of her sex, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and smirking with a wicked sort of mirth. He had blood smeared across his wounds, which had already begun to close and fade, making Belle wonder if he'd had a meal recently to cause the wound to heal so quickly.

"You're a liar, m'dear," he stated, removing his grip on her hips.

His eyes hungrily scoured over her body, Belle so discomforted that her hands slid to cover herself, one covering the patch of curls between her legs and the other covering her left breast, her arm strung over the right.

"Now..." he murmured, mouth twitching "If you stay still like a good little pet and stop this... _covering_...I'll resume. Would you do that?"

She hated him.

Despised him.

She wanted to kill him. She truly did. He was lost to her. He wasn't the man she loved.

He was a monster.

And yet she _wanted_ him.

There was no more reasoning, for Belle, as lust had taken over.

She was nearly to the point of bliss and it wasn't fading, no matter how hard she tried.

"Please," she rasped, lifting her hips towards him.

He laughed then, hands moving to stroke both of her inner thighs. "Such a needy lamb..." he murmured, his fingers skimming along her soaked folds. "Touch yourself, won't you? I can't use both hands, I'm afraid."

She was about to question why, but then heard him undo his breeches, rustling about before finally bringing out his erection, which Belle was pleased to see was straining and darkened.

Why he didn't push himself into her and buck at her until he spilled himself, she wasn't sure, but she did as he asked, tentatively sliding her middle and index finger between her legs, locating the bud there and rubbing, her hips slowly rocking back and forth as she felt a scarce trace of pleasure from her own fingertips. Belle couldn't help but feel a jolt of pleasure at seeing Ives's breath leave him, his hand quickly squeezing onto the shaft of his _cock_ , giving it a hard pump as his eyes feasted upon her form.

She watched him, so mesmerized with the brutality of the jerks from his hand that she nearly screeched when his fingers pushed into her, three of them at once, wiggling and writhing deeper and deeper into her until he could reach no more.

He leaned over her body, his breath hot against her ear, "You're mine, Belle, _mine_ ," he growled as he went, pulling back to watch her face, his eyes intent and full of a primal hunger of sorts.

She gave a sob, no longer of anguish, but pleasure, her hips shifting with the pumps from his fingers, almost as if her body was wave and he was the moon, drawing her in and out to shore. Her fingers now frantically scrubbed at herself, her breathes becoming harsher and harsher until he both curled his fingers against the roof of her cunt and bite into her shoulder. Belle's hips thrust upwards, eyes flitting shut and mouth agape as she swallowed in each bit of pleasure that hit her. "Francis," she nearly gasped as her body jerked erratically in response to the twinges of bliss.

He answered in the form of a snarl, followed by a warm sensation against her stomach, his hand resting upon her abdomen. She craned down to see that it wasn't his hand, but his member, which now soft and still against her naval. He had spilled his seed _on_ her.

He had marked her, just as a wolf would piss on a tree to mark his territory.

He looked over her, a smirk on his lips that made her breath hitch. He was proud of what he'd done, ruined her, humiliated her.

He did nothing, he didn't clean his mess, nor did he even speak.

He crawled over her body, forcing Belle to lie back down, the girl only able to stare up into his dark eyes.

He jerked forward at once, causing the her to flinch as his tongue slid along her cheek, then the other, as if he was a creature, yearning for the taste of her salty tears.

His fingers then moved to her face and Belle saw that they were slick, slick from her body, no doubt. He held them to her mouth, but she turned her head. She feared he would force his fingers between her teeth, but instead he gave a long sigh. He straightened himself above her, giving a little huff of irritation before smirking down at her. "More for me."

He made a show of cleaning his fingers, holding them to his nose, inhaling her scent. He slipped them into his mouth, one by one, only to draw them out all at once. He clearly savored her taste, though Belle had no clue why. She'd tried herself once after tasting the musk on his own tongue, only to find that she tasted quite strange.

His lips then slid to hers, Belle keeping her mouth rigid, staring into his eyes, which bore into hers. He gripped her cheeks in one hand and pinched her cheeks to force her mouth open, assaulting her mouth with his probing tongue.

It was not like any kiss they'd shared before, not teasing, not rough, not loving.

It was devouring.

Her body relaxed when she felt his tongue retract, only to stiffen as he quickly licked upwards, across her teeth and lips.

He left her on the bed, re-buttoning his trousers, straightening his shirt. "I'm going to put an end to Boyd," he finally announced, Belle openly gaping at the statement.

When she went to speak, he held a hand up. "I'm going to kill him and when I return to this room afterwards, I expect you to be _here_ ," he pointed to the bed. "I expect your legs to be open and I expect you and your little cunt to be much more welcoming to me," he spat, turning and briskly exiting before Belle could say a single word more.

The girl only stared at the door, seated at the edge of the bed, body rigid.

She sluggishly looked down, staring at the milky white mess splatted across her abdomen.

At once, the girl violently twisted her body back across the bed, her nails clawing against her stomach, scratching at the seed he had spilled upon her skin, trying to erase it.

She did this until the edges of her sight swarmed with darkness, eventually overwhelming her into nothingness.

Her head finally broke from the sea of blackness when she was awoken by the tolling of a bell, her eyes snapping open at once.

She was in the center of Fort Spencer, standing in the damp ground, the majority of the snow having melted overnight.

It was frigid out, she knew this because the cold, nipping winds stung at her cheeks.

She also knew this because she was still quite naked.

The cold bit at her bare skin immediately, her nipples reduced to buds in seconds, goose-pimples coating her flesh.

Belle looked about the fort in a haze, eyes bleary. How she had gotten there in the first place was unbeknownst to her, but-

_Look, there's something in your hand._

Her gaze shifted, ever so carefully, to her hand, which clutched onto a ridiculously ornamental dagger that appeared to be coated in fresh blood.

_Somethin' for stabbin', huh? Won't that be fun? Looks like some use already happened. Did I get to taste it too?  
_

It was quite long for a dagger and rather thin, but the point was sharp, good enough for slitting a throat.

Belle then took the time to notice the taste in her mouth.

_Blood.  
_

Not only that, but after gritting her teeth, she could practically taste the raw flesh that had been consumed recently.

The girl knew her face must've also been smeared with the blood, as the scent was quite strong and nearly pungent to her nose.

_What have I done?_  
There was a moment of aphrehension where she feared that she might've ended Boyd _and_ Ives, but she appeared to have no bruises or wounds that indicated a fight.

Belle supposed she'd have to investigate and was about to start searching when she heard the sounds of struggle nearby.

She tottered forth on unsteady legs towards the noise, holding the dagger between her middle finger and thumb, the blade loosely swishing back and forth with each step.

She found the noise coming from a very worn little shack that had held various tools inside, for a blacksmith, perhaps.

Boyd appeared to be wounded and bloody, on the ground plucking at something, but Ives...

The man looked like Satan himself, eyes flaring, a cross of blood smeared across his forehead.

He also appeared to be bleeding.

Belle was about to speak when she was halted.

_Oh._

She numbly watched as Boyd slammed an axe into her lovers arm, followed by the rapid slams from a log from a white aspen tree.

As if all of her previous anger towards Ives had been wiped from her mind, Belle suddenly was itching to lunge in and defend the man.

She forgot about Ives taking her maidenhead and sanity in that cave.

She forgot about Ives's obsession with John Boyd.

She forgot about it all.

She only saw her mate in danger.

She watched Francis stab Boyd, only to go down with the man, both of them pinned by the rusty bear trap on the ground in a ridiculous position that nearly made them look as if they were embracing.

Boyd actually had thought of something _clever_ it seemed.

Trap the Wendigo and he can do nothing but bleed.

Belle strode over without hesitation, her steps unsteady and nearly dainty.

The only thing that was not unsteady about Belle French in that moment was the crushing grip around the grip of the dagger in her hand.

She saw Ives spit something at Boyd in a low tone as blood dripped from his mouth, his eyes full of molten hate.

_Hate._

She didn't know why it bubbled out of her throat, but it did, a intoxicating giggle that drew Francis's attention away from Boyd, "Belle-" he began, his voice a weak hiss.

Ives.

Colonel Francis Ives.

Weak.

Belle's eyes darkened, taking no time to move in upon the two, grabbing at the rusty contraption with her fingers. She pried the device open, fingers bleeding as the sharp metal dug into them. She could've opened it entirely, had Francis's thighs not been atop the bottom half of the trap. She had no choice but to allow the trap back down after gripping Boyd by the hair, dragging him off of Ives.

She ignored her mates groan of pain as the device pinched into his skin once more, tossing Boyd to the ground and watching the man stumble to the floor with a sneer.

She couldn't resist the urge, giving another hysterical snicker at the sight, "Oopsie daisy!" she chirped, plucking the dagger from the ground, turning her back upon Ives as she quite literally _threw_ herself onto Boyd as the man tried to drag himself from her.

She straddled the man's waist, grinning down at him, so hard that her cheeks ached.

"You wanted me in there, didn't you?" she questioned. "You wanted to kill him to have me? Didn't you?"

The man didn't answer, but only stared at her, wide eyed and mortified.

She brought her closed fist down across his face, his jaw breaking with a lovely muffled snap.

Boyd gave a silent groan, his eyes glassy and pupils dilated.

"Answer me," she hissed, no longer amused, but now holding the dagger into his line of sight.

Silence.

She slammed the dagger into the meaty flesh below his shoulder, close to his armpit.

"Answer. Me," she repeated, tugging the dagger to the side, the dagger so shallow in context to his armpit that she could see the point of the knife through his flesh.

"Yes," he gasped out, eyes rolling upwards.

He'd die soon if she didn't keep him alert.

She jerked the dagger out, Boyd giving a gurgle as his body began to twitch beneath her.

"Shut up," she snapped, her breaths growing shallow at the sight of his pain.

Something about it was simply exciting to the dead priests daughter.

"If it hadn't been for you, we would've had a nice little life," she spat, punctuating her rage with slice across his right cheek.

"If it hadn't been for you, we would've had a _family_ by now. A pack," another slice to the other cheek, then the nose, then the chin.

He was close to passing out, it seemed, but Belle wouldn't allow it.

She slapped him with a tut of irritation. "No sleeping on me, Mr. Boyd," she hissed.

"You stole his attention. From me. He should've been fixated on me...not returning each night to... _fuck_ me like some sort of slave," her nose twitched as she watched the man give a wheeze.

She had wanted to make his death a masterpiece, cut out his tongue, scoop out his eyes. She wanted Ives to _feel_ her hate, _see_ how much she despised this man for stealing his attentions from her.

And yet as Boyd stared up at her, his blue eyes suddenly emotionless, the floodgate that had building from the moment Belle had entered the cave with Francis Ives broke loose.

She slammed the knife into his throat, Boyd giving a desperate, rasping gurgle as she jerked the knife back out, the spray of blood hitting her face causing the girl to pause a moment, eyelashes fluttering.

She gave a dazed giggle, her teeth bared in a grin. "Fuggin' think _you_ ," she stabbed his neck again, the man below her giving hitched sobs and gasps as he attempted to resupply his lungs with air, "can take him from _me_?"

She stabbed again, her breaths harsh, the experience nearly holy, watching Boyd drown on his own vile blood.

Her stabs became more persistent, eventually shifting to his chest, to his stomach, every single bit of unmarred flesh. She grunted between them, cursing at the man, spitting insults at him, at Ives.

After nearly ten minutes of her fun, Belle stood up, staggering backwards as her eyes seemed to open from her haze once more, blinking wildly. She immediately dropped the dagger, her legs trembling violently.

The girl fell onto her buttocks, staring wide-eyed towards the corpse of John Boyd.

She had been plotting his death for so very long, and yet it had gone by in a flash.

Belle jumped as she felt a sluggish hand touch her fingers, turning to see Ives, trapped, bleeding and staring directly at her.

He's seen her entire bloody, naked performance.

His eyes were glazed over, but in a way, they nearly seemed to worship her.

The scent of his blood was overwhelming in her nostrils, the girl nearly tempted to lick the mess of red from his face and curl up atop his body like a kitten, lazing about after having its dinner.

She couldn't do this though, as the man was dying.

Just as she realized this, his eyes nearly slid shut.

Nearly.

She moved to his side and slapped him across the face, rousing him from his near exit from the earth.

"No."

It was a bland command, and yet Ives obeyed, eyes seeming a bit more alert as they focused on her face.

"Surely I needn't repeat myself," Belle spoke in a low growl, a hand gripping onto Ives's face, squishing his cheeks just as he had previously done to her.

"Belle," he rasped, eyes growing bleary one more, to which she squeezed his cheeks even harder.

"No, Ives. You hurt me. _Hurt_ me. You forgot about everything but the little place between my legs ever since we came to this godforsaken fort," she spat, his eyes dimming.

"Belle, I love-"

" _Shut. Up_ ," she hissed, her grip now crushing. "You had your chance to reply to me as you shamed me, Ives, as you bit me and controlled me, made me succumb to lusts I didn't want, things that made me feel filthy. I _love_ you, Francis Ives, but you hurt me. You changed for that man, that _fucking_ man you met what, once?"

He tried to lift his hand, eyes darkening. "Mine," he uttered in a groan. "Pet."

It had been a feeble attempt to keep her there with him, as he _knew_ what she planned.

"I'm not another possession for you to toy with," she hissed before forcing her mouth down on his, her mouth opening before he could attempt to control the kiss, teeth biting into his bleeding lower lip, suckling at the blood, lapping at his teeth.

She jerked her head back after a few seconds of toying, pushing away from him and stumbling back a few steps.

She moved to Boyd, who already had an impressive pool of blood growing about his body.

Belle dragged the man by the arm, leaving him at Ives's side.

"You fancied toying with him so much, therefore it's only fit that you get the chance to devour him," she spat before taking a final look at Colonel Francis Ives, trapped in the jaws of a rusty bear trap and already groping at Boyd's arm.

Belle turned on her heel, only allowing the tears to squeeze past her eyelashes once she was a good distance away from the small shack.

If she'd only heard his voice as she left, the anger, the emotion that came from Francis Ives as he managed to rasp aloud:

_"I will find you and claim you once more, Belle. You are mine."_

She didn't hear the word, though, crossing the compound in her naked and bloody state. Belle was surprised to see the Indian woman, Martha, hurrying towards her with a rucksack and calm eyes.

"You have to go now," the woman told her in her monotone voice, face devoid of emotion.

Belle paused in her steps, brow furrowing. "What?" she demanded, wondering why the woman would ever consider it to be a good idea to give her orders after such her little display of unhinged violence.

"You need to get away from the Wendigo," was all Martha said as she shoved a thick winter dress into Belle's arms.

"Why are you helping me?" she questioned at once, eyes wary.

"You still can get away," the woman briskly told the girl, a glimmer of faith in her eyes. "You can have a normal life. You can if you dress now and stay away from the flesh."

Belle hesitantly nodded, dressing herself as the woman insisted and ignoring the lack of knickers or tight bodices upon her body as she allowed the woman to button up the back of the dress, shifting the rucksack onto Belle's arm before stepping back/

"There is food, clothes and money from the other men in there," the woman spoke, pointing towards the closest closed gate. "You go north. Never turn back. He will come for you, but you will change and hide. Camouflage. Adapt."

Belle didn't understand why the woman seemed to know so much nor why she was helping her, but the thought was nice. For once, someone _was_ on her side.

But unfortunately for Martha, the haze that had been creeping up from the corners of Belle's vision had thickened.

"I'm sorry," Belle murmured, her reaching up as if she intended to hug the woman.

Instead, she gripped the top of Martha's head and her chin, twisting her neck ninety degrees to the right until it cracked. The woman uttered a hitched groan as she crumpled to the ground, her face actually _peaceful_.

Martha had wanted to die.

Belle hadn't meant to provide Ives with an easier meal, but she couldn't control her impulses, as she was currently trapped within her own mind.

She easily pushed the large doors leading to the northern trail, walking along the dirt road that had first led them to the fort, bare feet covered in mud and grass in mere minutes.

She walked for what felt like days, nothing to think of but the man that she left behind.

She loved him.

Five times she halted, considering walking back to Francis Ives, but the fear of his wrath kept her moving.

Nearly ten times she had to pause because the tears had blurred her sight, but soon she kept walking, even through the blurred vision.

He had a lesson to learn and the longer she was gone from him, the more likely he was to understand _why_ she had left.

The further north she moved, the more snow appeared, and soon she was fighting her way through a blizzard, the wind so strong that she stumbled quite a few times mid step.

She collapsed in a trench of snow off of the road, the blizzard dying down to a few snowflakes. Even so, Belle felt faint and spent, her bones screeching with pain and heart weary.

Belle remained stiff and still in the snow for a long while until she heard the crunching of footsteps nearing her.

Her mind reacted immediately, telling her to run, but her body refused to comply.

Her breath quickened, eyes clenched shut.

_He found me, he found me, he found me and he's going to-_

Instead of a blow to her face or a hand grasping her and jerking her up, she felt a soft snout nudge at her cheek, a disdainful, irritated snort following.

Belle opened her eyes, looking into the dark, knowing eyes of the beast above her.

Her fingers trembled as they reached around its lean neck, tightly hugging to the warm beast as it lifted its head, dragging the girl up to her feet.

Once on her feet, Belle still embraced it, her forehead pressed to its forehead.

"Hello, old friend," she softly crooned to the black steed.

The horse softly whickered in response, nudging her once more with a snort.

"You'll be with me now, won't you, Napoleon?" Belle softly breathed, tears of utter relief in her eyes. She wasn't alone. She had her dearest companion again, the sweet horse and his thoughtful nudges.

She wasn't as alone, but she knew she never truly _would_ be alone.

Ever.

Francis Ives was coming.

He was coming for his pet. He would find her and bring her back to claim her once more.

Belle swallowed, gritting her teeth as she pulled herself onto the horses bare back, tightening her fingers around his mane, legs clenched tightly to his torso.

He was coming, but as far as Belle was concerned, she could run for as long as it took for him to learn.

She kicked the horse into a trot, the thickening snow enveloping the two, the feel of the cold wind sending her hair whipping and her chest hitching enough to cause the girls mouth to twitch upwards into a faint smile.

For now, she was free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps this was the equivalence to the ending of 'Skin Deep,' but fear not, they'll meet again, someday. The support for this is so amazing and seriously, thank YOU. 
> 
> Thank you, Joy and Fan for helping me out, as always :)


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle begins to lose herself, little by little. Something stitches her back together, something that soon slips through her fingers.

Her shoulders were gently thrust forward with each step Napoleon took beneath her. She held her head high, wind-chapped lips smiling and cheeks rosy. The beginning of her journey had seemed so forbidding, so increasingly terrifying. She _had_ been smiling as the black steed recklessly galloped from Fort Spencer, smiling despite all of the unsure feelings festering inside of her chest.

The entire cause for her departure and abandonment of Colonel Francis Ives was based upon a simple whim, a need for something more.

Respect.

She felt so terribly juvenile and petty, but at the same time, she knew she was doing the right thing.

His attentions had been upon John Boyd ever since he had set foot into the fort and that simply wasn't acceptable to Belle, the way Ives sadistically doted upon the man like a lover.

The snowfall had resumed to lighten as she went along, the light pieces of fluff growing sparser and sparser as Fort Spencer became nothing more than a speck in the distance.

It felt like a good omen.

After all the things she had done, why would she deserve something so very good?

The decrease of snowfall had done little to affect her other companion, Napoleon. In the beginning, it had had scarcely slowed him, the horse all too happy to charge blindly in a gallop, nickering happily with perked ears.

In response, Belle had only been able to laugh.

Perhaps she did miss the colonel and his company, but the horse was fine company all the same. He certainly remembered and adored her just as he had when their journey had first began. The thought alone made her beam.

Belle was happy. She had a horse, supplies, everything she needed to find a new life, a new beginning.

She was happy.

 _Was_.

Not even halfway through her second day of travel she had halted the horse, stumbling blindly to her knees. She sobbed hysterically on the side of the road, smashing her fists into the hard, icy snow over and over until her knuckles bled.

He could be _dead_ and if he was, it was _her_ fault. Entirely her fault.

She had left him in his bloody, nearly dead state, her name on his lips.

Belle uttered a weak wail at the thought, fingers clutching at her chest, wishing she could dig and dig into her skin until the aching stopped.

She loved Francis Ives.

She wanted to go back.

Even if he punished her, even if he killed her, it would be worth it.

Belle gave a soft breath of surprise as a strong nudge to her side sent her collapsing face first into the snow.

She slowly rose, wiping the snow from her face with her bloody, cold hands to see her horse companion's dark eyes, his nose hovering directly in front of her face. He gave a stern snort at her, Belle nodding in reply with a weary breath.

"I know," she softly replied, reaching upwards to stroke his snout. "He's too stubborn to die, much too stubborn. He's probably running this way right this very moment."

The horse craned down to prod at her hands with his soft nose.

"I'm fine," she dismissed, pressing a kiss to the horse's forehead.

She stood and dusted herself off, taking a moment to rip through one of her old dresses and wrap her knuckles. When she was satisfied with her wrappings, she moved onward.

She nearly turned around another three times after that, her guilt eating at her. Each time she showed some sort of violence, scratching and pulling at her hair and each time the horse would stop her with a hard nudge from his nose. Whether or was out of concern or impatience, Belle was uncertain.

After the third time, the truth had finally settled and Belle was confident enough to ride towards the nearest town, her face lax in a determined grimace.

As calm and collected as she had felt, there was a feeling of great anxiety about entering town without Francis. He knew exactly how to make people like him, how to be suave, intelligent and charismatic without seeming a single bit off. Belle, on the other hand, wasn't so sure she could do the same.

She had enjoyed having his hand at her waist, protective and territorial. He took care of each and every thing, only requiring for her to smile contently.

Belle knew she couldn't hide behind other; to rely upon them for the rest of her life. She was been completely fine on her own while Francis had first been to Fort Spencer, had she not? She had controlled John Boyd's little group of men like marionettes.

She steered the horse into the town and smiled broadly at each passerby, earning a few half-smiles and nods in reply.

_See? It isn't that hard, not at all._

Belle had wanted to avoid civilization at all costs, but it had been growing increasingly difficult to remain comfortable on Napoleon's bare back. It befuddled her, as she recalled enjoying riding bareback. Now she felt heavy and awkward upon him, something she chose to ignore.

She had been relieved to meet a gentle soul at the horse traders, a boy with murky blue eyes and a mop of light brown hair.

The boy had to have been a few years younger than her and blushed when she spoke to him, shyly answering with an Irish lilt to his voice.

He doted over her horse as he idly answered Belle's questions about the town, unearthing a few sugar cubes from his pocket and murmuring muted words into the horse's ear while he happily crunched away.

Belle watched the two with a faint smile, feeling oddly at peace by the sight.

That was, at least, until the owner of the traders entered with a sneer on his lips and one hand at his belt.

"Graham! What did I say about pesterin' clients?" he boomed, the boy visibly flinching away from Napoleon. The man's lips curled as he moved past Belle, grumbling under his breath.

Belle pieced the boy together from three of the words muttered by the horse trader.

_Fucking._

_Immigrant_.

 _Bastard_.

Her blood boiled and she bared her teeth at the man's back, the urge to retrieve Francis's hunting knife from her bag and scalp him alive all too enticing. Did the man really think she was deaf?

 _No, no, no. You have words, remember?_ It was Francis's voice that crooned this within her head, making her lurch forward with an unsettled wince.

She pointedly cleared her throat, catching the fool's attention.

"Ah, what a steed ye have..." the man shot a gap-toothed smile to Belle, as if she hadn't even witnessed his shouting at the boy mere seconds ago.

Belle didn't return the smile, but instead rose a brow. "I allowed the boy to visit him. He was keeping me company," she primly stated, disregarding the man's previous compliment.

"What, ye want to keep him?" the man questioned, guffawing loudly at his own crude humor.

Belle remained stoic, eyes flashing. "I only would like to see him treated like a _son_ should be."

"Son? Fuck me, lass, you think I'd want this mutt as a son? Dead daughter popped 'im out before dyin' on me."

Belle felt a rush of emotion as her gaze shifted to the boy, standing so very still. His fists were clenched and his teeth were grit, but his eyes were brimming with tears, nearly about to shed. He was ashamed. The man reeked of alcohol, thus providing a reason for his disgusting mouth, but the boy must've thought it was entirely his own fault.

She wanted to take him away with her, find him freedom.

"I would like to purchase a saddle for my horse," she finally spoke after a long moment of silence.

"Aye, we'll set ye right up," the greasy man looked at her with a humorless smile. "Side-saddle, of course."

"No, I'll take a normal saddle," she interjected with a much-too-sweet smile.

The battle was seemingly won as the man's lips twitched, quickly disappearing into the stable whilst muttering a few choice words beneath his breath.

Belle turned to the boy, pursing her lips tightly as she rocked on the balls of her feet, "I'm sorry," she quietly uttered, feeling entirely guilty for so abruptly fighting after the man.

He said nothing, however, his eyes on the stables, where his "master" had left.

"I...I _hate_ him..." he spat from his clenched teeth.

"Leave," Belle replied at once, a faint smile on her lips. "It seems so terribly difficult and impossible to leave, but it truly isn't."

"I can't..." he replied, eyes shifting to the floor.

"But you _can_ ," she earnestly replied, moving forward and placing a hand upon his shoulder. "Please, you-"

"Here you are," the man emerged with a false smile, baring his tobacco-stained teeth.

Belle said nothing more, handing the man his paper money. She fitted the saddle onto Napoleon herself, well, she had _wanted_ to, but the boy had taken it from her and fitted it himself before she could protest.

She slipped five dimes into the boy's hand and mounted the horse.

The saddle _was_ quite nice, the soft leather a welcome relief to her sore thighs. It had been overpriced, though, no doubt heightened after her assault on the owner, but she didn't mind. The money was from a few dead fools, after all.

Belle had begun to push herself upwards with the intent of wrapping the saddle around the steed's broad torso, only to be silently halted by the younger boy. He plucked the crafted leather attachment into his own hands and easily fastened it onto the horse, Napoleon not even giving a twitch.

Belle thanked him once more, hauling herself onto the horse and rearing him a few steps.

She shot the boy called Graham a sympathetic glance before kicking the horse into a trot.

Belle made one last stop in the town, dropping by the local general store to purchase a few books.

The journey upon the horse had been aching for a book or two to read on the way and she was grateful to find one book that seemed interesting to read, even if she had tired the shopkeeper as she had spent nearly a quarter of an hour trying to decide between books.

Just as Belle had passed her payment over the counter, she heard an agitated neigh from outdoors that made the hairs on her neck stand.

It was Napoleon.

Her lips formed into a sneer, shoving the book into her knapsack and bolting out, her steps slowed by her winter cloak.

Her eyes widened as she saw _her_ horse charging out of the town, a stranger upon his back.

Belle's heart stampeded, was it _him_? _He surely couldn't have caught me so soon! I've been moving as quickly as I can, I haven't-  
_

_Breath._

Belle closed her eyes and exhaled, sorting out her thoughts before whipping off her cloak. She bundled the heavy fabric into a tight roll and glanced to see the man even further away, dirty snow kicking up from _her_ horse's hooves.

Perhaps she wouldn't be able to catch up so easily, but she wouldn't tire, not for a long while.

She was Wendigo, after all.

The townsfolk only watched as the spindly, pale girl broke out into a run after the distant horse thief, a gleeful grin on her face.

This time, she embraced the seemingly frustrating darkness that festered within her head, oblivious to her actual actions and thoughts and becoming blissfully happy instead.

So happy that she let out a whoop of exhilaration, one that mirrored her crazed wendigo's as he hunted down John Boyd and his little comrades down in the forests outside Fort Spencer.

Belle ran and ran, her knapsack and cloak secured beneath her arm. The thief atop her horse never even glanced back once, leading her nearly a mile from the town.

She was smart though, Belle. Leading him from the town made less of a scene, gave less people the chance to spy her as she dealt with the man.

She slowed to a halt, cupping her hands around her mouth.

" _Napoleon!_ " she cried, the horse skidding to an abrupt halt in reply.

The man above him wriggled upon the horse, jerking the reins and kicking at his stomach.

Napoleon only gave an irritated snort in response, daintily pushing back onto two legs an giving the man no chance but to slide off of him.

The thief fell to the ground in a heap, giving an audible groan of both irritation and pain.

Belle strolled over with a snicker, hands gripped together behind her back as she approached. The horse trotted over with a huff of breath, Belle unclasping her hands to stroke his head. "I know, I know, how _dare_ he touch you?"

Her exhilaration died into a curling wave of lukewarm nausea as she neared the fallen figure.

_Ives wouldn't fall, Ives wouldn't-_

Relief flooded throughout her entire body, warming her body as she saw the man was quite plump, just like, _oh_.

"Why, you again," she stated in blatant surprise, as if running into an old friend at the general store. The horse trader giving a growl in reply as he sat up, a hand gripped to the back of his head.

"Fuckin' _bitch_ ," he hissed, Belle barely managing to step away as he spat towards her.

"Such a dirty mouth," she tutted, bringing her leg up with a jerk, her boot connecting to his jaw.

It broke with a lovely crack, Belle unable to contain a giggle at his howl of agony.

"First you humiliate that poor boy, humiliate me, but then...steal _my_ horse? What a sad 'lil mistake, huh?" she looked to Napoleon, tutting.

"You can't do nuffin'!" the man insisted with a sputter, scrambling towards her with the intent to grasp onto her wrist by the way his body was arched. Belle slammed her knee into his face, her kneecap smashing into his nose. A sudden, tingling rush of copper wafted towards her nose her mouth involuntarily watering as he bled through his nostrils.

_No distractions._

She snatched the trader's arm into an iron grip, jerking him around onto his stomach. She kept her foot firmly planted upon his back, eyes lit with dim amusement as she looked over him.

"Do you think you treated him the right way, the boy?" she questioned, amusement fading into a hostile territoriality of sorts.

"Why the fuck would I give a damn 'bout that-"

He broke off into a scream as Belle gave a mighty tug, pulling his shoulder from its socket.

He began to sob then, while Belle merely watched, taking in his horrifically pasty face, his greasy hair.

No one would miss him.

"What shall I do first, Napoleon? Cut off his _cock_?" the crude word made the man give a loud howl, breaking into another sob. She hadn't been sure what to threaten, but according to Ives, men prized their genitalia.

The horse stomped into the soaked grass with a affirmative, Belle shaking her head with a grin as she reached into her rucksack.

" _Please_ _!_ I'll g-give you anything! The b-boy! M-My home! I'll give you a-all of the horses!" he broke into a frantic rabble, listing off each of his worldly possessions in a desperate attempt to survive his encounter with the ragged brunette.

But Belle ignored all of it, rifling through her knapsack."No, no...Let's see..." she frowned, hardly putting any thought towards the tendency of pre-death adrenaline rushes, a mistake that Ives would've surely laughed himself to tears at.

Had he been with her, he would've gutted the man and given her a pat on the head to assure her she wasn't anything less in his eyes.

 _Had he been there_.

The horse-trader managed to push himself to his feet with surprising strength and speed, running for Belle with his fingers outstretched.

Belle had finally gripped onto Francis's dagger, but had no time to react, readying herself as much as she could before-

With a predatory shriek, Napoleon charged into the man, knocking him onto his back with his broad forehead.

Belle fell backwards onto her buttocks in shock, chest heaving as she struggled to calm herself. "Napoleon, you..."

She trailed off, seeing something shift in the steed's eyes, something that she had seen elsewhere.

In Francis.

Belle could only watch as the horse rounded the man, lifting a hoof and promptly dropping it, smashing into the man's head and instantly killing him.

The dagger slipped from her fingers, Belle struggling not to vomit right there. _When did he learn...how...did..._

The horse even craned his neck down, sniffing at the bloody mess left behind _picking_ at it with his _teeth_.

He was.

The horse.

Napoleon.

_Francis...Ives...what...have you done?  
_

She imagined him beside her, his chest puffed up, eyes warm as he watched the horse _"Trained him myself. A marvel, isn't he?"_  
  
Had the man slipped flesh into the horse's feed, had he...

He was a genius.

A wicked, demented genius.

She began laughing, not finding it humorous, but finding it completely and utterly overwhelming to the point that she _had_ to laugh.

Belle sat for a long while after her laughs died down, watching the horse with twitching lips.

_The smell._

Her stomach gurgled loudly, as if trying to remind her that there indeed _was_ a body awaiting her.

A disgusting body, perhaps, but she was starving.

She felt the darkened parts of her head asking for permission and this time, she didn't fight.

Her fingers found Francis's dagger once more and she moved to her feet, kneeling beside the body with a soft huff. "We make do with what we have," she mumbled before proceeding to flay the man, sawing off his meatiest bits for herself.

She took care to remove his skin, not keen upon tasting such filth, but she did eat the meat raw, gorging the bloody pieces into her mouth.

Belle had even removed his heart, dismantling his ribcage and lifting the organ into her hands, a bubbling giggle emitting from her mouth.

When she had finished what she had considered "dessert", she ran her bloodied fingers down her face, closing her eyes and giving a content sigh of fulfillment.

Her moment away from anxiety and fear died with one foreign cry.

Belle jerked her head around to the source, mouth gaping as she saw the boy, Graham.

He must've run the entire way by the looks of him, out-of-breath and hunched over, but she soon realized the sight he had come upon.

Her mouth opened at once, "I didn't-"

"What did you do?!" he screeched, his swampy eyes wide and nearly tearful. " _What_ did you do?!"

And with that sudden overwhelming feeling of guilt in her chest, she was gone, her other half taking control."Why, I'd say I freed you!" she heard herself chirp in reply.

_No...Not this, not this...not this silly accent not this..._

"W-What?" he was paling quickly and Belle wondered if he would faint.

"I mean...he wasn't kind to you, Graham," she found herself speaking a bit more clearly now. "Y-You wanted freedom and n-now you can go! You could come with me!" she shot a smile with her bloody teeth. "We could be a little family, take care of each other!"

"No, you've...you're..." he rapidly shook his head, "You're a monster, why would I ever come with you, why would I...why would I even look to a monster?!" the boy demanded, his voice harsh enough to make her flinch.

"I said I-" Belle fell silent as the boy shook his head in disgust.

"Leave now, leave or I'll bring them to you to hang you like the witch you are!" he shouted, giving her a pathetic look before running back towards the town. Her heart dropped at once, mind filled with so many voices, so many words, so many echoes.

Belle's body moved on its own then, taking her cloak and risking its cleanliness to swipe away the scuffle left from her and the horse-keeper. She hopped atop Napoleon and she kicked the horse into a gallop, closing her eyes and sneering lightly.

_Monstermonstermonstermonster._

She couldn't recall much for the next week.

* * *

Belle was fine once more after the boy scampered off, swell, in fact.

She didn't care about his little words and opinions, he'd thank her someday for what she had done, for his freedom.

She had better things to do.

Belle's favorite was to hang off Napoleon, sideways and limp. Strangers would always come for her soon enough, questioning if she was well, offering to take her to the nearest town.

"Oh no, I-I'm f-fine..." Belle would say, batting her hands at them.

They would say words then, Belle wouldn't hear though because she had Francis's knife in their gut.

She did this for a few weeks until she'd noticed the odd sensations and pains.

Her stomach would twist at the oddest times, the girl hungry more often.

Her feet hurt, nearly all of her legs did.

Belle was often sick too, in the morning, mainly, with vomiting and gagging.

This didn't stop Belle, though. and even if it did make her pause, she resumed tricking people.

Nobody would suspect her of the random murders because by the time the body was picked clean by her and Napoleon, she was already galloping away.

Coyotes, they could say.

She giggled a lot at this.

She giggled a lot at everything.

She was fine one her own, for the most part.

She _had_ been fine in many aspects.

But she missed him.

She missed being with him, yes, but she missed being _with_ him, having his slick body pressed to hers, his heat warming her to the core and his cock buried inside of her.

She bitterly imagined it as she slept beside the fire, fingers delved beneath her skirts, teasing herself beneath her knickers.

He'd give languid thrusts, his mouth pressing to her face and lips as his hand rubbed between her legs, which would be tangled around his waist.

She tried so furiously to imagine that her fingers pressing and rubbing against her swollen folds and bud of nerves was his tongue, but it never felt the same.

He'd bite her neck when her fingers tangled in her hair and he'd latch there as his thrusts grew heavier and quicker, mouth quick to move back to hers to swallow the throaty moan she would emit.

Belle found her pleasure as she imagined this, their bodies entangled and lips smashed together, her hips bucking upwards, eyes filling with tears.

It wasn't the same. Not without him, not without him inside.

She sobbed, feeling wretched and disgusting as she curled into her pelt, wishing to go back more than anything in that moment.

But she wouldn't.

_His lesson, Belle. He must learn._

* * *

She'd resumed her little escapades, teeter-tottering upon a thin line of sanity until _it_ finally made itself known to her.

Belle had been fortunate to find a spring on a rather warm day for winter, deciding upon bathing in that little spring.

At first, she'd noted how very tender her breasts were, giving little aches even just from a small touch.

But her stomach.

Her stomach.

Somehow, it made her torn mind stitch together, causing her to sob so suddenly that it seemed to surprise herself.

How hadn't she noticed? How could it happen so quickly?

She'd been wearing the same cloaks and dresses for days, having no other choice. She had stopped caring, she hadn't...

And...the wendigo. He had told her, the way it made him so strong, made her so strong, it only made sense for _it_ to grow so quickly.

A child.

A baby.

A cub.

She was pregnant.

Belle sobbed for a good long while, sinking to her knees in the shallow spring.

She rocked back and forth for a long while, finally piecing things together and taking a calm breath.

The frail brunette placed a hand on the light swell of her stomach and closed her eyes. She _wanted_ to hate it, their child, but she couldn't.

Francis had always wanted it, a baby. He hadn't outwardly stated so, but she just knew. He would've loved to see her pregnant, stomach swollen with _his_ offspring.

And she had left him. She had no way of knowing if he followed them, but she couldn't risk anything.

"I'm here," she breathed at once.

She'd read books of mothers that ignored their growing babes, that had them removed, but Belle wouldn't do that, no, she was much too kind to do that.

"Mama's here," she swallowed heavily. "I'm gonna...gonna take real good care of you."

And she did, even Napoleon seemed to be aware that she was carrying his former master's cub.

The horse would gently nudge at her stomach, sometimes even herding Belle here and there as she led him through rougher patches of snow, fearing she would tumble.

The baby grew so quickly, her stomach nearly two sizes larger than before within a month. She still kept to her "helpless" acts upon the road to earn a meal, but with each bite, she grew more and more sick.

What was she doing to her child? She couldn't allow it to be like her, she couldn't.

And so Belle hunted.

She was quiet, just as Francis had taught her during their lazy days at their cave, so very quiet that she had managed to kill a buck.

Belle was quick at skinning the creature, roasting its meat and reluctantly gnawing on her meal.

It wasn't the same, but the feeling she was left with was much better.

Still, the urge to feast upon flesh was there and screeching at her.

But it felt better.

She managed with her cub and she loved it. She spoke to it all day, she told it stories about herself, even about Francis.

She wasn't so lonely anymore.

In fact, Belle was happy.

* * *

_One month later:_

Her pale, trembling fingers threaded through the Napoleon's matted mane, her body shivering uncontrollably upon his back. She hunched forwards against the heavy onslaught snow, her lips chapped and cheeks red.

She had once been smiling at the swell of her stomach, which still had done a week before as she marveled beside her campfire, the soft kicks of the child inside of her never ceasing to amaze her.

Now, she only felt guilt.

The child had grown so very quickly, the strength of it making her wonder just how strong it would be once away from her body and its previous diet.

Her journey had started with a smile, with hope, but the snow and absence of any towns or trading posts had seemingly murdered it.

Belle had no clue where she was, not a single one and currently, her head was swaying side to side, eyes flitting shut.

All at once, an onslaught of stabs and jolts of pain hit her abdomen, Belle giving a straining cry in response. Napoleon halted almost immediately as he sensed her distress, ears flattened.

Belle gave a hitched sob and hunched over, an arm wrapped around her protruding abdomen as the haze of pain grew thicker.

She struggled to keep her eyes from rolling back into her head, Belle's twitching body jerking her sideways off of the horse. She slammed into the icy snow, the harshness of her body smashing to the hardened surface naught but the brush of a butterfly's wings in comparison to the other pains assaulting her.

She gave a sob, clutching onto her swollen belly as if she could protect it from whatever had caused the trauma hitting her in a barrage of stabs and aches.

_Please no, I love you. I love you, don't leave me. Please, don't leave me, I want you. I'll take such good care of you, I'll..._

She cried out as a wave of nausea hit her, collapsing into the snow before her. "Please!" she rolled her face from the snow, sobbing furiously as she pleaded to whatever was looking down upon her in that moment, whatever cruel that had chosen to spite her.

Just as she felt a pain that neared the feeling of a hot, searing white poker being inserted upwards into her, she sobbed out the name she had least expected to utter, but somehow understood.

" _Ives PLEASE!_ "

Her eyes finally rolled upwards, body going stiff. She could feel the cold seeping into her bones and other things that were warm and seeping out from below her.

Belle faintly heard the crunching of footsteps, a bleary smile upon her lips, "Francis," she wheezed, "Ives, you heard me, you came to me. The child, it needs..." she fell off desperate whimpers as she felt warm hands on her face, accompanied by a scent that was nothing close to Francis Ives.

Incense and whiskey.

The hands coarse and cold, but soft all the same from the lack of physical contact for the past few months. They stroked and stroked, caressing her cheeks, her forehead, her hair.

"What has forsaken you, poor child?" a soft, lilting accent questioned. Scottish, like Ives. It was a man, a very timid, jumpy man by the way his fingers scarcely really touched her face, as if they'd jerk away at the slightest movement.

"Please," was her reply, eyes refusing to focus. "My child, it needs help," she weakly insisted, attempting to spoon in closer to the man. Perhaps if she used his body to warm herself, to take it upon herself like a blanket...perhaps then the baby would feel better.

There was a long silence followed by a muffled sob of distress.

"Why won't you help us?" she demanded in a frantic tone, her fingers gripping onto the man's thigh as he resumed to sob. He gave a cry, his hands moving to her shoulders, attempting to hold her back.

"Don't let it die!" she was screaming now, shaking at him, pushing at him. " _SAVE IT!_ "

He held her back with surprising strength, giving a shaking breath before he suddenly ripped her against him in a snug embrace.

She could smell the alcohol much more clearly against his chest, his sporadic heart beat making her feel even more anxiety than she already did.

"I'm so sorry," he softly managed to say, his breath hitching from another soft sob.

Belle saw nothing but white afterwards, only hearing her own screams and his desperate pleas afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are always appreciated. :)


	12. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Traces are found and a friendship is formed, though some feelings are deeper than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot even begin to apologize for how delayed this chapter has been. I was once told how irritating excuses were in the business of fanfiction, but I'll simply say that everything that could be an excuse, is an excuse. School, anxieties, etc. I feel absolutely terrible, but it does feel much better to get this chapter out. I hopefully will be able to update a bit more regularly, but I have a lot of trouble with my muse, lately. She's a finicky little bitch. :)

Blue eyes opened abruptly and an uncomfortable cold sweat covered each terrace of goose-pimpled flesh. A wave of panic rattled throughout her body, nestling in her chest and the girl jerked upwards. She was swaddled tightly in a number of cotton blankets and a hand seemed to be covering hers. One that had previously touched her face.

She began to move more insistently, feeling a jolt and hearing a sharp intake of breath. Whomever had decided to take it upon _him_ self to hold her hand must've dozed off.

"Oh christ," the lilting voice from before uttered in a low tone. "Please, you must settle!" the voice insisted, trembling hands moving to hold her down by the shoulders.

Belle decided she didn't like this one bit, blindly pushing back with her eyes squeezed shut to focus her vision.

Once opening them, she snapped her head to the side, eyes shifting from an irritated glare to bleak horror.

_Ives._

It was him. Scrawnier cheeks, a shaven beard and even a shallower skin color, but it was _him_.

Her breathing grew frantic and her body screeched at her to run, but she remained still.

When he moved to touch her arm, it was then that she moved.

"Get out!" she cried, trying to untangle her body from the mass of blankets to shift away from him. "F-Francis I told you-"

He seemed as panicked as she, like an abused child waiting for a blow. She expected him to flee or retort with a bitter remark, but he _did_ make a move to silence her words. He placed his hand over her upturned wrist, his eyes so very understanding.

They were calm, like pools of honey.

Not cold and dark as coal.

It _wasn't_ Ives.

How could it _not_ be him? Her hand instinctively splayed across her stomach, protecting her unborn cub from the enigma before her. "W-What sort of game is this?!" she demanded, eyes darting to the white collar peeking out from two sleeves of black. "You pretend to be a part of the _clergy_ to get to me? How many people have you fooled? How many have you _harmed_?!"

The man's calm demeanor was lost immediately following her brazen accusations, his hands trembling to skirt down his inner coat pocket, searching for something that obviously wasn't there. "I'm sorry, I haven't a clue what you are talking about!" he protested, his voice quivering more than the voice of her former lover had ever shook.

She took a shallow breath, her mind seeming to collect together as her fingers dug into her stomach. She closed her eyes, brow furrowing as something surfaced within her thoughts.

Something was different.

Something was _missing_.

A warmth that had taken place of the wendigo had now gone cold, dormant.

_What...What..?  
_

Belle's body doubled over at once, gasping with her eyes clenched shut. She clawed her fingers into her stomach, her breaths now coming out in whistling wheezes. There was pain from the intensity of her grip, pain that could not even compare to the iron grip around her heart, clenching harder and harder until it eventually squeezed into oblivion.

The man knew, he _knew_. He wasn't Ives, no, Belle could smell that much. Ives smelled of moss and copper, of evergreen and dirt. This priest, he smelled only of alcohol and incense. And he _knew_.

He had begun to tremble so violently that he could hardly manage to twine his fingers together, _praying_ , of all things. His woesome eyes lifted heavenward, his mouth speaking mute words.

This only made Belle's horror and rage reach their peaks at the same moment.

She reached forward in one swift motion, grasping onto his both of his upper arms with a binding grip. The man cried out, a pathetic little yelp that reminded her of the yelp Spade uttered as he was murdered. "Please!" he pleaded in a gasping breath, eyes wide and bauble-like. "I don't know what you're trying to tell me...Tell me! Let me help you! _Please_!" he rambled at once, his hands moving to weakly grasp onto her elbows.

"Y-You...What is..." stinging tears blurred her vision, the falling feeling in her chest only twisting as her fears were confirmed in his eyes and the way they guiltily looked upon her. " _WHERE IS IT?!_ " she screamed at once, her face reddening. " _WHERE IS MY BABY?!_ " Belle could only hear her own breathing and the priest's babbling voice as she desperately pawed at her stomach, trying to feel something, _anything_. "I can't feel it, I can't...What did you do to it?" her screams had died into sobs, Belle's grip tightening on the man's arms.

The man flinched with each shout, tears filling in his own eyes as the previously serenely sleeping girl was reduced into nothing but desperate sobs. "It w-was too late, too late," he repeated in a harrowed, shell-shocked tone, over and over.

_Too late, too late, too late._

The pale girl released him as if she'd scalded her hands, turning with wide eyes to gaze at the wall.

Her child.

 _Their_ child.

Gone.

Was it fate playing a cruel trick on her?

First her child...and now this. The man before her had saved her, had nurtured her, and yet was nearly the mirror image of the man she was trying to escape.

He invoked something in her, with his trembling hands and wide eyes. He was nearly childlike, afraid and unsure of the situation.

Something that only seemed to wrench open the agony filling her body. Belle's trembling lips split as she cried out, chapped and worn from the cold, blood seeping through to stain the dead flesh clinging to her mouth. A soft whine could be heard by the man beside her, the scrawny thing hardly able to react as she broke out in an abrupt sob.

The girl howled and screamed and hollered, her body twisting in the bed like a possessed being. He couldn't sit aside and simply _pray_ for it to stop. Christ had damned him. His collar held nothing behind it, nothing sacred, nothing chaste. He found himself grabbing her arm and hauling her across the bed to him, the girl half lifted as he crushed her in an embrace.

He held her as snugly as he could, chin pressed to the crown of her head, unlike any hug she'd ever received from Francis Ives. His trembling fingers combed through her knotted curls, down her back, trying to give her as much comfort as one _could_ give to a grieving mother. Belle's eyes felt heavy and her heart now felt as if the pain was being spread between the two bodies, to share.

"M-My...My..." she squeezed her eyes shut as her tears and mucus clung to the man's black shirt, "My baby..."

It had been her only reason for existing, her _sole_ reason for existing. For waking, for moving, for eating, for surviving, her baby was meant to be her entire life. Belle had one new friend, one who tapped faintly at her stomach to remind her it was there, one she could hum and talk to as she pleased. Whenever she was scared, all she needed to do was place a hand upon her swollen belly and remember that she could never stop fighting for the being within herself.

There had been countless times she had considered quitting along the way, of course. Belle French adored her life, she truly had and did, but at points, she knew it was either death or Francis Ives.

Sometimes she forgot why she was running, but the flashes of the way Francis had touched her and _marked_ her in those moments after her fiery attempt to hurt him scared her. He would find her if she gave up, but if she died...

Belle stilled in the man's arms as she realized he was speaking, scarcely above a whisper. His words were mutters, desperate, pleading. She turned her face up to his, openly staring as he chanted.

He was praying. For her.

"Oh, God, why? Why have you done this, why not someone else? You never have cared for me, never me, but you couldn't do this to _her_ , why..." he trailed off as he felt her sobs still, his darting eyes focusing on her bleary blues.

The girl felt faint, her head seemed to be whirling around above her body entirely, looking down upon the two. It finally fell still when the priest worked up the courage to place pressure upon her, resting her back against the mattress. Belle's eyes drooped with exhaustion, eyelids flitting as they attempted to remain open. "Ives." It wasn't a plead, nor a whimper, but a statement, almost as if Belle were attempting to acknowledge her own mind. _He'll find me and he'll kill me now. Not only did I hide our child...but I killed it._

More tears rose in her sleepy eyes and she let them fall, a new bloom of pain working up inside of her.

 _Our baby_.

She had murdered plenty of people, whether it had been by her hand or not, by now. Belle did it for a reason though, thus making her nothing near a murderer.

But now? The title seemed to fit.

Murderer.

* * *

The next time Belle woke, she felt calm. Nothing in her mind seemed to bother her, _nothing_. In fact, as if the lord had truly answered the drunken priest's pleading, she remembered _nothing_. Maybe it was there, deep inside, maybe it would only come up in her nightmares, but that side of her brain, the lovely side full of dark tendrils and frantic giggles, it had done the work for her. Just as it had in Fort Spencer.

All the same, she felt terribly depressed. She didn't even want to move from the bed, even after noting the priest still was at her side.

He sat in a worn chair with a tattered velvet cushion, his head bowed in what she thought was prayer. After a muffled sigh, she realized that he was fast asleep.

Belle decided to let him off, even though she figured he would have a terrible backache from his position, and gingerly pushed her body upwards. She ached terribly between her legs, why she did, she couldn't recall, but it made her head sway as she sat up

For the first time, she took note that she was wearing a nightgown. It was nice against her skin, cotton, but it was white.

Her eyes hurt from how white it was, as if it would've been better off flecked with dark bits of blood. White was pure, a wedding gown, a newborn baby swaddled in a blanket of the color.

Belle was nothing near pure. Not even the repentance the church seemed to favor could save her.

Belle had been as filthy as a pig in mud, she'd been a wicked, wicked girl.

And yet she regretted none of it.

Instead, she had enjoyed it. She still ached for it, even, to find a town full of people and act so sweet and coy, only to kill them, one by one.

Oh, how they'd scramble! How they'd twist and turn in her grip! Ives once had told her fear was the best seasoning, and she could evoke so much of it.

The man at her side gave a soft huff of surprise as he jerked his head up, his greasy hair stuck to his cheeks and eyes wide as usual.

"Who, ahm...dressed me?" she softly questioned, nodding to her sleeve. For feeling so powerful, Belle blushed terribly at the question.

"I-I didn't..." the man lifted his hands as he had previously done, as if to portray his innocence. His eyes got so very glassy and large so quickly! Belle wanted to giggle, but her chest felt so hollow and empty that it would've hurt. "A woman from my parish, Widow Lucas...she cleaned you and cared for you as needed," he assured, giving a hesitant, but meaningful nod.

_Parish._

"You're...a priest," Belle stated, quite matter-of-factly and dull.

He was a fine looking young man, perhaps a bit thin in the cheeks and scruffy, but he was unlike Ives in that manner. Ives had such a full face and his complexion seemed almost brassy...like a polished candlestick.

"I am, I've been here for nearly a year now," he informed. Instead of puffing his chest up as one proud man of God should've done while speaking of his service, his shoulders fell.

Belle frowned.

"How did you...find me..?" she softly questioned, slowly settling back into the plush feather mattress below her as she realized that she _was_ quite sore.

"I was returning from town when the storm hit, I was needed back at the parish for nightly mass, but I...found your horse, he's in the stables, I assure you, but I...He led me to you," his expression grew grimmer and grimmer as he spoke, "You were...in the snow, a scarce layer on ye..."

His accent broke though, making Belle pause, lips parted. This priest's accent was much more notable, something she nearly enjoyed.

"I picked y-you...up and you were bleeding...I saw...the..." he cleared his throat, shifting his collar, "I tied your horse to mine and brought you here. You were fitful, but you slept the night."

Belle said nothing in response, only giving a tight nod. She touched her stomach, still swollen, and gave another tearful nod.

It was swollen, almost as if her child were still there, but it was empty all the same. She felt nothing. No soft kicks, nothing. Ives had missed it all.

She wanted to slit his throat.

She wanted to embrace him and sob.

She wanted him.

_But I won't give him that satisfaction. Not again._

"I don't...quite know how I can repay you," she finally said, in a defeated tone.

"N-No!" the man jumped at once, his hand jerking towards her, making her jump.

He drew back, looking nearly like a wounded dog, "I...I meant to...You needn't do a thing, m'child. You've gone through enough."

The words were meant to be warm, but she felt only a faint twinge. "I...I have no place to go," she informed him with a desperate gaze.

"You can remain here," he blurted out, before she had even finished her own sentence.

Belle gazed up at him with parted lips, taken aback by his eagerness to keep her there. Was he really a "godly" man? Would he attempt to take advantage of her?

The man seemed harmless and Belle smelled nothing off about him. Perhaps he truly was so kind that he would offer her a home, but she felt no such trust for any man, godly or not.

She could keep moving, but she knew she needed time to heal, time to recover. Ives would surely be thrown off his trail. The blood of their own child would cause him enough confusion and the realization nearly made her vomit.

She _didn't_ know. She _didn't_ know if Ives was even following her and this was the thought that made her feel a chill down her spine.

Belle was already tired of running. She wished to remained settled, if only for a few weeks.

It wasn't so simple, though, as Belle had lost a will to want to move, to walk about, hardly even to use the chamber pot beneath the bed.

The priest, Joseph MacAvoy, as he formally introduced soon enough, was adamant nonetheless, always visiting when he could, always speaking with her, trying to learn more of the mysterious girl, trying to understand _why_.

She often wouldn't reply at all, but ask to be left alone, sometimes she'd choke up and roll to face the wall.

"What do you...enjoy?" he asked one afternoon, his hand on her mattress. For a priest, he didn't hide affection. Belle saw it quite clearly when he looked to her, and she couldn't help but feel the same fondness. It wasn't the overwhelming plume of love and passion she'd felt for Ives, no, but a soft sort of happiness inside of her, like a brief ray of sunshine.

"I...I like to read, I suppose," she quietly answered. Belle found herself rooted in Father MacAvoy's little house. Supposedly it was connected to his parish, where she often heard a mass of voices, singing and organs, but the idea of entering the building left her feeling hollowly terrified. She was sane, for once, though. She felt no urge to harm the man, nor did she feel the urge to giggle or spin or dance or flay.

"Read," the man repeated, as if to remember the information. "Right," with a nod of his head, Joseph was gone, scuffling from the room and returning after a few loud scuffles with an armful of books. Belle assumed they were all of his god, but no, they were _wonderful_.

"Thank you," Belle lifted her eyes to see that his were locked firmly upon her face, a rippling warmth fluctuating through them.

"Thank _you_ ," the usually meek man seemed quite bold in that moment, touching her hand.

"I've only been here a few days and I haven't moved from this bed...I don't quite understand what there is to thank me for, father," she quietly stated, her gaze shifting to the foot of the bed.

He seemed a bit discouraged at that, but the man wasn't relenting, "You're here and that's quite a bit, Belle. I've been on my own in this little place for ages...I've got my parishioners, but...this company is quite...nice."

"I'm a...girl. A girl that's just lost her child, that can't look good at all."

His face didn't fall an inch, not at all. He _was_ in love with her. After the few days she had been there, he'd already fallen so much in love that he wouldn't deny her reasoning. She knew he already had stumbled from his path of priesthood from the lingering scent of alcohol on him, but to fall so easily in love, to portray such ease at touching her, she nearly found herself admiring him for such bravery.

"You've been looking for a reason to fall further from priesthood, Joseph, haven't you? And I've become just that...I...I'm not a good person, I really am not and-"

"You're an angel, Belle. I've never seen a human so humble, so serene, I haven't!" Belle's brow furrowed as he spoke, shaking her head quickly.

"Please, you don't know me, I'm far from an angel! I've only sat here because it _hurts_ to think of living again, of moving forward. I've just lost my...my child I've lost Francis I can't...I c-can't..." the blackness tempted her, it truly did, but she was engulfed in warmth and incense as the man leaned forward to embrace her once more.

But she _wasn't_ an angel. She was a killer, a debauched, disgusting killer.

And yet the priest held her so very long that she supposed that he was trying to make her forget the thought itself.

* * *

The books each had titles of different sorts, ones that indicated romance, drama, mystery, anatomy, everything she could think of.

Belle found herself hurting no less, but when she read, when her mind was captured in the whirlwind of various lives and adventures, things _did_ get number.

She had even found herself wandering from bed, looking to her self in the looking class upon the dresser across the room.

She looked nothing like an angel.

Belle's face was thin and white as snow, sickly snow. Her eyes had circles beneath them that were brown, as if she'd skimmed a finger covered in mud ever so lightly across her skin. Just enough for a tinge.

Her feet padded across the room as delicately as she could, but the floors creaked. Out in the hall, she soon found the priest's room, completely barren of anything but a bed, dresser, and trunk. Belle clutched the book she had taken with her to her chest, one full of images of the human body (why a priest owned them, she didn't quite know), and dared to walk in. She creaked open the trunk, a shameful heat blaring up her neck, but she was less guilty once she saw he owned nothing suspicious, beyond the empty bottles of alcohol.

Priests and alcohol, she bitterly thought, eyes scrutinizing a worn bible beside the mess of bottles. She backed out and made her way down the stairs, rubbing her lips together. Her father died by _his_ hand, for what he had done to hurt her, for his alcoholism.

Father MacAvoy was different, though. Surely he could be convinced to stop?

The house _was_ quite nice, much better than the house her father had been provided with by the church. _Probably a very pristine Catholic church,_ she figured, eyes trailing along the plush carpet nailed into the floor, with its velvet red softness beneath her feet and criss-crosses making her eyes spin.

It was small, nonetheless. Besides a kitchen with little besides a tiny table and a stove and a smaller living area with two couches, Belles supposed he had conferences with his parishioners here, there was nothing else. The man was nowhere to be found, which settled as something uncomfortable in her stomach.

Belle was so used to the man walking by her room constantly, like a skittering, scuffling mouse. He was worried about her, that she would harm herself, that...

_Arms itched, so I bit, and gnawed, andbitandgnawedandbitandgnawedandbitandgnawedandbit-Oh god...Oh god...my...my baby...my sweet baby, our baby...Ives' eyes would have...would have been so warm he would of held us...in his big arms...and..._

"Belle!"

Two voices were heard, one with a tone of complete surprise and one of complete horror.

Her eyes trailed to her arms.

Wrapped.

She even lifted her skirt to her thighs with little shame.

Wrapped.

White, clean bandages.

She remembered none of it.

"W-What..." she began, but the priest placed his warm hands on her face and softly shushed her.

His eyes were like glazed honey, boring into hers and forcing warmth into her chest.

"It's in the past, Belle, and I won't let it happen again."

Her itch to kill had been replaced by her own, shifting mind. Replaced by the itch to harm herself.

Belle vomited on his nice, plush carpet.

She apologized profusely as she demanded that the priest allow her to clean it herself, scrubbing through the carpet as much as she could and even stomping upstairs to empty her own chamber pot.

The priest followed her all the while, looking much like Private Toffler.

Belle wondered if the two would have been friends.

"Joseph," she finally stated as he watched her dump the pot outside. She turned to him, feeling that his name felt better to speak aloud. "Could you promise me, to always tell me the truth?"

"Of course!" he replied before she could take a breath, mirroring a loyal, sweet dog. Spade.

It was like he was each and every person and thing that made her happy, coalesced into one.

"Do you drink often?"

He did not become mad, like Moe often had when she'd be in the doorway, face hidden behind her curls. He actually appeared to tear up. "I...Yes...I-I...You were right, Belle. I am not meant for this burden, of men and women relying on me. I'm not holy, Belle. I'm...I drink because it..."

This time, it was Belle's turn to grab his face in her hands and shush him (her hands had been scrubbed and dried in the melting snow beforehand, of course). "No more," was all she stated determinedly. "We'll help each other."

His face retracted and his eyes grew dim with hesitance, "I'm not sure, Belle, I-"

"You're doubting yourself because nobody's ever relied on you in a way you've wanted...and now I need you, Joseph. You're taking care of me, making sure...I'm not in harm...not sad...I'll do the same for you. Lost souls have to stick together, you see? Otherwise we'll be washed away..." she swallowed hard, taking a slow breath. When was the last time _she'd_ been the reassuring voice? She had been so naive, so scared and reliant upon a certain colonel.

Now, she had strength.

"I'd...I'd like to come to service," she stated after her hands were at her side once more, fingers digging into her thighs.

His face seemed to lift immediately, nearly incredulous that she actually _wanted_ to come. "Really?" he questioned immediately, to which she nodded.

"I'd like to, ahm...experience it..." she decided with another nod. "Though if I could have a proper bath first and...see my horse, that would be nice." Napoleon had been kept in the stables by the church for the extent of her stay, and though she worried that the lovable brute would bite into the back of a man's arse and happily chomp away, he seemed to be getting along fabulously with the other horses.

"Of course! I'll...draw a bath and...you..." A splitting grin broke across the young priest's face, moving forwards and gripping her face in his big palms so quickly and so softly that Belle gave a shudder. His hands were warm, so very warm, so very gentle. She only met his happy gaze with her own hollow one, swallowing heavily

"Yes?" she cautiously questioned, a bit confused at his sudden display of affection.

"I am...very happy, Belle," he informed before releasing her face. "You head out to the stables and I'll draw you a bath."

"You'll get me when it's ready?" she questioned, trying to smile. The thought of attending _his_ service at _his_ church was a cautious thing that she nearly feared. She was a lone girl living with a priest, never leaving his home, surely she couldn't look good to his parishioners.

_When did I start fearing what they think of me?_

"Yes, yes, of course," he dismissed, backing out of the room, grin never leaving his lips. She swore he did a small jig as he left.

Making her way out to the stables, Belle found herself feeling strangely calm. Previously, she had been in constant fear of being awoken in the late night by a crash or a scream, followed by the haunting cackles of Ives, but now, she truly felt safe.

She knew leaving was the best way to remain safe, but could she truly survive here without moving?

Her thoughts were silenced as she heard the cracking of wood followed by an annoying whinny, Napoleon quite literally breaking _out_ of his stable door to trot towards her.

Belle could only snicker devilishly, reaching out to embrace the horse's neck with a long, content sigh. Napoleon was her only friend that she could trust, the only one that understood her, it seemed. "We've both been working hard," she murmured against the steed's warm coat. Both horse and girl had been weaned from their normal diet, not by choice, of course, but from the need to behave.

Napoleon didn't seem to care one bit about behaving, but Belle, on the other hand, had decided for him. "Maybe he can't smell us so long as we...don't...eat..." she suggested aloud, pulling back and scrubbing the horse's forehead affectionately. Napoleon, however, gave a negative snort.

"Fine, maybe I'm foolishly hopeful, but I'm not the one _breaking_ out of my home," she scolded, her expression shifting into a splitting grin at the self-conscious glint Napoleon's eyes.

"I'm kidding," she insisted, earning herself a nudge to the cheek with his nose, a lovely splay of snot pressed against her skin.

The priest chose that moment to approach, of course, while Belle's cheek was shining with lovely horse mucus and making a _very_ lovely face.

"He missed you?" the priest questioned, reaching forward to give Napoleon a pat.

Belle hesitated, a bit afraid that the horse would react violently, but Napoleon was completely docile.

_Look at us, both seduced by the man like this. Could it be because of his...similarity to Ives?_

"I'm warming the water for your bath," he told her, offering her a handkerchief.

"Thank you, he...broke the door," Belle replied, accepting the cloth and wiping her face with a grimace. "I think he missed me a bit too much, I could...fix it?" it was a lame offer, as Belle seemed to be a simple girl, but she _did_ know a thing or two of woodworking.

"I...I wouldn't ask that of you!" the priest immediately replied, a bit insistent.

"I _can_ fix it. I fixed the door my home many times...men often broke it down, or else Pa did," she explained. "He broke the chairs a few times too...the table..." her breath seemed to catch at how much information she so readily provided. No matter what she said to Father MacAvoy, it made her feel like she was some sort of terrible cheat.

_Why should I be concerned that I'm harming Ives when he's the one who harmed me so terribly?_

"Ah, I promise you I've only broken china," Joseph assured as Belle tugged Napoleon along to an empty, unbroken stall.

"I've done that myself," she admitted, her stomach tying in knots with each bit of herself that she shared. "Not drunk, mind you," she _grinned_ at the man, but somewhere, somehow, it now felt _good_.

The priest chuckled at that, Belle now closing the door and giving Napoleon a delicate kiss on the nose. "Behave, you, or I'll have to keep you in the house!" she warned, giving the horse a loving little pat on the snout before following the priest.

Once she'd filled the metal tub with the help of Joseph, he left her with a bit of soap and a brush, Belle gratefully dipping into the water. It'd been years since she'd had a proper, warm bath, not like the ones she'd taken with Ives in the chilled stream during those long, languidly blissful hours spent in their little cave. Then, she'd been much warmer with the flesh she'd eaten.

 _And with his body pressed to mine, of course_.

She still favored this bath more, where she could properly wash herself to the point of her skin going red.

Belle felt clean, _inside_ and out for the first time in many days.

_Behaving like a good girl and going to church. What would you think of me now, Francis Ives?_

* * *

Her trail had been jumpy, but for the most part, poorly planned.

_Heading north, is she? Going to find some "help" for her cause? Humiliate me further by hiding behind fleshy shields?_

She was _his_ , she had done a proper number on him, leaving him with Boyd, leaving him with a militia passing through.

It'd been simple enough to eat Johnathan Boyd and stand, but explaining himself had been simpler.

 _"H-He...He went rabid! The others were disappearing...b-but I never thought...I...My sweet Belle...he...she's gone...I couldn't find her and I found bits of her dress in his room...I..."_ He'd broken into desperate sobs, the firm, obedient Colonel that Slauson had grown to know shattering into a husk of a man.

They'd remained for a day, but Ives had killed them in a few hours.

Had he not been concerned about catching up with his little lamb, he would've enjoyed himself much more, but the men were done with and he was off on foot.

She'd stopped a few times, but he'd found his first true sign of her on the outskirts of a town. Not only had he found the rotting husk of a man, but he'd _smelled_ her.

No, no, no, he'd smelled her _musk_.

_Enjoying yourself without me, my little pet?_

His cock was straining against his trousers, the cold not even a threat to his erection.

_Ah, a little break won't hurt me, will it? I've been awfully adamant..._

He gave a gleeful snicker and soon enough, he'd spilled himself over her lingering scent and tucked himself away once more.

Francis's stomach gave an irritated grumble as he adjusted his coat, the man straightening and glancing towards the town.

_One meal won't kill me...there was a lean looking lad at those stables..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading. All of your comments, kudos, support and mentioning has me in complete awe and I can't thank you all enough! See you next chapter! :) A big thanks to Joy and Fan for helping me as always. 
> 
> P.S, Ives needs to keep his dick under control ;P


	13. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle attends her first service at Joseph's church, discovers a few new faces, recollects on her past and makes a decision.

Feeling nervous was something Belle hadn't felt for a long while, not since she first was instructed to flee by Martha back at Fort Spencer. Before that moment of hesitation, to flee or not to flee, Belle recalled feeling entirely nervous the first time she met Francis. She'd hidden half her body behind Papa, staring at the man with a timid gaze. He certainly _stood_ in a manner that made her nerves freeze, so proud and so straight. Even the air around him radiated with a strangeness, a spark of power that she'd never known or felt before His eyes had been so cool, his mouth set in a neutral line. But _oh_ , how it'd changed upon introducing himself to _her_. His eyes lit and flooded with warmth, he'd even kissed her hand, his rugged lips leaving fire on her knuckles-

Belle physically jerked her head to stir away the thoughts, lifting her eyes to the looking glass she held, borrowed from Father MacAvoy. The small home had previously belonged to his grandmother, as he had told her upon giving her a few items, a hairbrush, the looking glass and a few other antiques. Belle felt ashamed to use any of these things, especially the looking glass. It only made her achingly aware of how hollow and pale her face had become. She remembered herself before all of... _this_ had happened. Scrawny, but slightly plump in certain places. Now, she reminded herself of the stray dogs she'd seen in the town she and Papa had lived in for so long, with their ribs stuck out and skin nearly sagging on their haunches.

She looked nearly dead. A walking husk.

* * *

Joseph MacAvoy, on the other hand, never noticed her appearances in such a way. If anything, he abashedly found her worn eyes and pale skin to make her nearly angelic. Hadn't the son of Christ gone through constant torments, only to rise again? Belle, however, didn't seem to know her own worth. Joseph was extremely aware of how her eyes always darted towards the nearest door, how her hands always seemed to be wringing together or fidgeting with her dress. Today, however, her hands wrung at her arms as he led her from his small home. His worrisome eyes found a line of blood upon her mouth caused by the girl worrying at her chapped lips with her teeth.

With a trembling hand to her shoulder, he halted her and lifting her gaze to his with a gentle thumb pressed to her chin. The priest paused for a moment, astonished at how much strength the girl gave him. He could hardly even speak to women without choking or saying something outrageous, let alone touch them, but with Belle, it was nearly as if his hands acted on instinct. He carefully removed his handkerchief from his breast pocket, finding a clean corner and carefully dabbing the blood from her lower lip.

"Why are you afraid?" he gently questioned, hunching himself down to her level of sight.

He understood the fear of his parishioners, as he quite feared their gazes alone. When they looked to him, all he saw was the plea in their eyes, please for help, redemption, to rid of their sins. Their dependence terrified him.

He was nothing more than a drunkard pretending to understand the Bible, trying to make some sort of twisted peace with himself by filling the shoes of the last priest of their tiny town. The priest before him had taken Joseph in when he'd found the young man drunk beyond comprehension, nearly like Joseph had found Belle. The previous father had been a man many looked up to, a man that taught Joseph that he had self worth. When the man soon died, however, Joseph reverted completely, deciding that he'd surely find heaven if he took on the role of priest.

"I'm afraid of their looks," the girl's soft, lilting voice shook him from reverie, Joseph's heart giving a quavering stutter as he processed her words. _She doesn't like the eye-contact either?_ He glanced down to see her hands clenched together, almost in a violent fashion. "I'm afraid of how they'll see me, i-if they'll think I'm a victim...or a... _harlot_."

Belle's eyes jolted up to his as his hands cupped hers, the action partly to ease his own discomfort from the way she held them together.

"You're brave, Belle. If you resume to be brave, you'll _feel_ brave," it was a wise statement for a drunken bastard, Joseph thought, his chest flooding with pride. "They know nothing of you and while they will wonder, as all church-goers seem to do, they won't know whatever truth it is that you're so afraid of. I'll tell them you had tuberculosis."

And then she laughed. An honest, _real_ laugh. It was a laugh solely uttered from the irony of his suggested illness, but the priest instead assumed that she was simply laughing at his own stupid optimism. Yet to Joseph, Belle's laugh was still a sound so sweet that the priest uttered a humiliating, choking giggle of a laugh he'd ever heard from pure elation.

Belle seemed taken aback from his response, but not in the way he automatically assumed, of disgust, but of endearment. She nearly looked at him like a troublesome... _puppy_. It wasn't a comparison that he minded in the least. "Tuberculosis isn't something that people... _recover_ from, Joseph," she chided. If Joseph's pathetic adoration from her hadn't already been existent, it certainly would've come to light now by the way Belle spoke to him in a way that wasn't at all condescending, but soft. "It's killed wagons upon wagons full of people," Her expression then grew bitter, as Belle knew this because Ives had told her. He prided upon teaching her these things, of filling her mind with all he knew.

Joseph noted her grimace and slowly removed his hands from hers, "We'll be late if we wait any longer," he stated, as if it were much more important to make it to mass than he felt. If anything, the idea of Belle sitting in his church terrified him even more.

He said nothing more, though, but even if he had, Belle wouldn't have heard a thing.

She simply stared at the line in front of the small white church ahead of them. Families, woman, children. _Wouldn't want to break apart families, would we? Wouldn't want to break up..._

Her eyes shut for a moment, a sudden flash of a jumbled conversation jolting through her ears, forcing her heart into a frantic beat. She forced her eyes open and tried to steady her breathing, but their voices, their laughing, smiling...

Belle felt as if someone had submerged her into a vat of bubbling tar. It wasn't just the confusion of a conversation she hadn't recalled hearing now, it was her past, before Francis.

Once, she'd been a good priest's daughter, she'd known every man, woman and child in their parish, volunteered to watch many of their squalling newborns and delivered baked goods to those who were ill. In the end, however, her good deeds were sucked away by her father.

Papa had been a leech in her neck, each penny she made from helping was stolen, no matter where she tried to hide it. She always knew he'd found her stash when he had a new bottle in his hand. She'd even tried taking it from him, she'd tried and yet a solid blow would land against her face and her resolve would break.

She wanted to run.

She wanted Francis.

And in a moment, when nothing but fear seemed to inhabit her body, Joseph's warm hand pressed to the small of her back and she stepped forward.

Belle knew that Joseph had considered her a personal investment from the day he found her. He wanted her to flourish for all of these men and women to see, his diseased, personal saint that defied death.

He was so very wrong.

Belle was not the woman adorned in tattered silks, feeding the starving from her bare palms.

She was the one killing their parents, watching as her rampant wolf tore them all to shreds.

But Ives was a respectable wolf, he wouldn't tear a _family_ apart.

He'd kill them _together_.

Belle suddenly felt sick from all the images flickering to life in her mind, of blood and guts and dismantled bodies; the image of Ives tearing into each of these bodies with such glee that she felt inclined to _join_.

Her attention was abruptly brought to surface as a set of hands gripped her shoulders, Belle's body jolting violently in response.

As quickly as they'd smacked onto her shoulders, they were gone. " _Ruby_!" Belle followed the harsh bark to a woman she could only describe as _wizened_. Her stout shoulders were squared and her gray brow knit together, worn spectacles teetering precariously upon the bridge of her nose.

The scrawny girl held in her grip seemed to be the exact opposite, carefree blue eyes and hair that reached her buttocks. Her crooked grin nearly reminded her of Ives and the girl even _winked_ at Belle, as if they were in on some sort of secret. "Ruby" jerked out of the woman's grip, rubbing her arm with a wince, " _Yeesh_ , Granny, I was just greeting her like a part of the flock and the flock's a family, isn't it?" the girl huffed and rolled her eyes, shooting her hand out towards Belle, "I'm Ruby and this is Granny and we're really glad to meet you. I mean, surviving tuberculosis is really a big thing, I bet the papers would-"

"I will gag you with that damned long hair, you stubborn mule," said Granny, causing Belle to give a sudden snort of amusement.

"It's all right," Belle answered, quick to feel guilty from finding such humor from a situation she surely had been the cause of.

"So, anyway, you really survived?" Ruby was quick to hop back into their previous topic, ignoring the glare Granny gave her before turning her back. "I mean, Joseph said you did when I just asked him, uh...a minute ago, but you seemed all spaced out and...you survived it?"

Belle bobbed her head, and for some reason, she felt no guilt for lying at all. As of late, Belle nearly found everything about herself loathsome, but the girl realized then and there that sometime, someday, she would _have_ to forgive herself. It hadn't even been her lie, after all. Joseph, the sweet thing, had gone ahead and lied for her, ignoring her comment on the inability to survive from the ailment.

Ives had certainly found his own cure, of course, but would all the the churchgoers be that dim and believe that she actually conquered it? Would she even be around long enough to know them that well?

Belle found herself finding a solace of sorts standing next to Ruby and Granny as the procession made its way into the church, Ruby completely at ease with filling the silence with her own voice and Granny occasionally harrumphing.

Once Joseph came into sight, standing with hunched shoulders beside the steps leading into his small church, Belle found herself wondering why the man was a priest. He seemed so terribly cast aside with himself, his confidence withered and she imagined that his chest filled with an anxiety of nearly any social situation. As soon as he caught sight of Belle, a smile, or rather, a _hopeful_ smile stretched across his face and he scrambled to straighten himself and puff his lanky chest out as much as he could.

She couldn't help but feel guilt, he was smitten with her, but she felt nothing. She cared for the man, of course, but she could never love anyone again, not the way she'd loved Francis. _Or...could I?_

She doubted herself as she watched him him down the procession line and clapped a gentle hand on her shoulder, his head bobbing anxiously. "Are you still feeling well? Are you sure you're content to be here?" his eyes were so worried, nearly concentrating as if he believed he could see any threatening ailments if he looked hard enough into her eyes.

"Of course," Belle quickly assured, offering a genuine smile towards him. She felt a flutter in her chest, a lancing warmth flooding her cheeks and dismissing her previous contemplations. It was an elation, something that she hadn't felt for a long time. She hadn't felt so happy and pure since she'd been sat behind Colonel Ives on Napoleon, behind Papa and Mr. Janus and Jones and Spade.

She knew she should be ashamed, she knew it was a betrayal, but she felt no intimidation nor pain so long as she held the priest's gaze.

_A priest. You would ruin him._

MacAvoy seemed to consider her answer, looking over her face once more to assure himself she was well and gave her shoulder another soft pat before moving back towards the church doors.

"I've never seen him so perky," Ruby commented, giving Belle's arm a nudge. Belle's face seemed to grow even warmer at this, her eyes looking to Granny's for support, only to find a wry smirk on the older woman's mouth.

"He's smitten, girl. Too bad he isn't the right type of priest," said Granny with a soft tut, Belle feeling a bit of shame at the truth of the statement.

She could ruin him.

Belle immediately found any worriment of the situation as Ruby started at her once again, asking her anything and everything as to where she came from and why she was there. As overwhelming as it became to struggle with answers that weren't truthful, but also not too far fetched, Belle was actually _relieved_. She'd become so used to fighting with her own mind that she'd forgotten how distracting company could be. In fact, she hardly thought of anything else that gave her any sort of grief until they entered the church.

She luckily managed to lose the chattering girl and her grandmother in the small jumbled mess of people taking seats, finding herself a place in a very empty pew in the second row. Tentatively glancing around, Belle noted just how alone she was in her small pew. She supposed the mention of illness had plenty of the parishioners hesitant, but soon enough, Ruby and Widow Lucas stood up and pointedly joined her.

"Erm, thank you," Belle softly muttered with a shy duck of her face, only to get a scowl from Granny.

"Hush, girl, you needn't any more grief in your state."

While Ruby rattled on about how idiotic the rest of the parish was, Belle took a moment to take in her surroundings. It wasn't like the Catholic churches that her father had described, with decadent murals and plush cushions, stained glass and golden chalices. Joseph's church was a homely little room with a single podium facing a few wooden pews and a single stained glass window. Despite the raggedy appearance, it felt... _warm_ to Belle, safe.

A silence fell over the group as Joseph entered, followed by an alter boy who briskly set to lighting the few candles surrounding the podium. Joseph truly was a different man in his proper robes, almost as if they gave him a completely new persona. The Joseph in front of her looked proud and confident, not meek and so easily startled. The mass began with a simple song, and instead Belle stuck her face into the bible she'd found in her pew, inhaling its earthy, musky smell. She missed this scent, even if it took her back to her father's shame and drinking, to her forced engagement, to the times she'd hidden her face in the same book to not see his hungover sermon. The book itself was comfort, knowing that the mass in her hands was something she found solace in, it was nearly as if it were an old friend.

Her timid voice joined the singing surrounding her, Joseph leading the song with his own quivering voice. He looked perfectly _perfect_ in front of the mass, his eyes gleaming with a pride, his chest risen.

The following mass went by in a rush of confusion, Belle never sure if she was meant to remain standing, seated or kneeling. Nonetheless, something _new_ had entered her body, a thrumming feeling of _enlightenment_. The church felt so warm, homely, _safe_ , but his sermon had truly sealed her into a new feeling of happiness.

Joseph's sermon had been simple, discussing the morality of man and the "righteous" path, but she could still hear a particular passage he quoted running circles round her head. It was nearly as if fate itself planted the quote into his sermon: " _Beware of the false prophets, who come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly are ravenous wolves._ " It nearly felt as if Belle had been given a new chance to live, to _breathe_.

She didn't know if it was the simple idea of religion or if it was Joseph himself, but it was a safety net, something she could fall back upon and _rely_ on.

All she knew was that something inside finally felt _right_. She'd gone months on her own, trudging through the snow, living only for the child inside of her, only to lose it.

_There was no child, you know._

Belle twitched at the voice that seemed to linger within her head, the one that tried to erase those memories of blood seeping from her skirts, a painful cramping in her pelvis.

 _It did happen. You just think I'll live better if I forget_.

"Did you, ah...enjoy the service?"

Belle jolted upwards to see the church was empty. Had she she fallen asleep, or had she simply fallen into stupor from revelation? "I'm sorry," she was quick to blurt out, surprised at the warm expression that slid onto the priest's face.

"It's all right," he assured, gently placing one of his warm hands upon her shoulder, "I wouldn't expect I could pay full attention to mass if I weren't the one leading it, though sometimes I do daze off and forget what I'm speaking about at all," he admitted with a soft noise of mirth and a humble bob of his head, offering his arm to her.

After a moment of staring blankly at his arm, Belle slowly slid her arm though it. She peered up at him as they started a slow pace towards his small home, pursing her lips tentatively, "To tell the truth, Joseph, your service..." Belle felt a rush of embarrassment slide from her toes to constrict her throat, the idea of explaining something so personal and... _meaningful_ making her feel incredibly vulnerable. "You service made me feel _elated_. I don't understand it, but it... _comforted_ me." Belle's free arm was tightly latched around her stomach, her eyes glued to her own toes.

"Belle," Joseph urged softly, releasing her from his arm and lifting her reluctant eyes to his with a soft tap from his finger to her chin. "I-I've never asked before because I didn't want to be a... _pest_ , but _what_ happened to you? For you to be so horribly...withdrawn and...and to... _hurt_ yourself...Please, tell me, I truly want to help."

She knew this would happen, she knew she'd _want_ to tell the truth, but she knew it would ruin everything. She couldn't hide from Francis forever, no, but couldn't she lavish herself in this wonderful little life with this wonderful priest and his flock? It was a daydream, wishful thinking, she knew Francis would find her eventually, she knew he'd kill anyone that'd touch her and resume chasing her until he could toss her over his shoulder and claim her once more. Belle knew she should shut herself in, like she used to when her father's parishioners had questioned after the bruises that would appear on her body, but she _wanted_ to tell him.

"I'd...I'd rather tell you later," she hollowly stated, not failing to note the way his brow knit with concern.

"Of course," the words were forced and disappointed, "I'd better go through and chat," he then stated, nodding to the congregation gathered outside. Belle knew it was a lie, she knew he'd been directing her towards his house, but instead of calling him out upon it, she simply waved and turned on her heel.

Belle slipped easily disappeared from the nearby crowd of Joseph's followers, her small frame and pale face gone unnoticed.

She found refuge in the stables with Napoleon, hugging his thick neck only to have the horse retract and snort in her face with a glare.

"We've got to go, I know," Belle muttered, clamping her teeth against her cheek.

The horse replied with a loud whinny, jolting Belle backwards a step. " _Really_ , Napoleon, I _know_ ," she closed her eyes for a moment, pinching her brow as she struggled to sort out her cluttered thoughts. Everything was so very jumbled and noisy that she hardly could sort them at all.

The biggest concern was evading Ives for _good_. She couldn't _kill_ him, she never could. As much as Belle would've enjoyed pretending that she loathed him, she _didn't_. She could simply return to him, but at what cost? He would do the same thing to her again, find a new group to kill, find a new Boyd, a new reason to humiliate her. She could run for the rest of her life. Belle knew she'd been aging without the constant supply of flesh, surely she'd die eventually.

She didn't want to choose any other option but to stay with Joseph, in a place where she felt a sense of normalcy.

Napoleon jerked her from her thoughts once again, kicking his water trough and bringing an immediate thought to Belle.

 _Of course_.

With a cheeky grin, Belle turned to return to Joseph's home.

* * *

Belle's newfound pride, however, was short lived. She had to tell Joseph, she had to confess or else she' surely go insane. She knew that if worst came to worst, she could simply kill him, but she _cared_ for him. She cared too _much_. That had been Francis' critique of her when he'd tried to teach her to properly hunt on one of their lazy days at the cave, she simply cared _too_ much for the creatures.

It was true, though, and she accepted it.

Belle took slow steps to her makeshift room and glared at herself in the looking glass Joseph'd given her, criticizing her face, her thoughts, _everything_. How could she tell him without losing him as she'd lost the stable boy when he'd stumble upon her. Would he try to kill her? Call her a monster and flee to the sheriff?

 _Do the brave thing and bravery will follow_.

She busied herself with reading one of her mother's old books to pass the time, her body stilling as soon as the smell of dinner found her nose.

Belle walked downstairs as if she were about to approach the gallows, her hair loosely tied behind her neck, her hair often got in the way of reading and this made it less hindersome, and mustered a weary smile to scarcely match Joseph's doeful grin.

"I've made stew, it's certainly not a masterpiece, but it'll help bring back some of the strength you've lost," he assured adamantly with a bob of his head, ushering her to sit herself down at his small dining table.

Nothing but silence followed, Belle trying to start her tale time and time again only to die off into silence, the only sound emitting from either of them the clack of their spoons.

"I..."

Both heads jerked up as the other spoke at the same moment, Belle surprised to feel her cheeks heat up once more.

"Belle," Joseph steeled himself, taking a long breath and mustering a smile as he reached across the small table to touch her hand. "Whatever's happened to you, whatever you've done, I won't judge you."

She couldn't find comfort, she knew it would be a lie soon enough, she suspected he would run from her. "You'll hate me, though," she heard herself say, voice bitter and cold.

"I don't think I could ever hate you."

The look in his eyes was one she recognized all too well, the look Ives often had given her, that warm gaze that wrapped her up and filled her with happiness.

However, she only worried with this look from the priest. Only a few days and he was in love, how could anyone love her in the state she was in, how...

Belle steadied herself in her seat and drew in a long breath before giving a bob of her head.

"My father and I were hoping to find passage through the Nevada's to relocate his parish—"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's taken this long, but I've been flooded from school and work, this originally was going to be a bit larger, but the second part is looking to be so large I decided to split it. 
> 
> Please tell me what you thought, and again, I'm sincerely sorry it's taken me this long <3

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally just a prompt reply, but I'm bewitched by the idea with this now. Please do tell me what you think! This will be following the plot of Ravenous, but with a different ending, and yes, Hierophant will show up. You'll see eventually :) Thank you for reading, lovey.


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